


stay made of lightning

by alnima



Series: Four [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheating accusations (but no cheating), Famous Zayn, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Minor Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Past Liam Payne/Harry Styles, Past Perrie Edwards/Zayn Malik, Sexual Content, Slow Build, misunderstandings in the form of Hollywood scandals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You never stood a chance,” Louis tells him. “Zayn Malik is a god. And well, you know what happens when mortals try to get involved with gods.”</p><p>Harry bites his lip, looking at Louis through his lashes and says, “They get burned.” </p><p>“Every time,” Louis says sympathetically. </p><p>A Notting Hill AU, where Harry is a uni student whose life gets turned upside down when he meets famous actor Zayn Malik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay made of lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candythongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candythongs/gifts).



> candythongs asked for a-sort-of Notting Hill au...this is that, except it doesn't actually take place in Notting Hill, funnily enough. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta for being there the entire way and holding my hand so marvelously, and to all the other people that gave me encouragement without realizing it. All remaining mistakes are my own, and the title is taken from Girl Almighty, since Zayn is kind of the Boy Almighty in this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know or own anyone. This work is my own and it is not featured on any other site, nor does anyone have my permission to repost it in its entirety. Thank you!!!

When Harry wakes up, he’s aware of two things. One of them being that he forgot to close the blinds before he went to sleep, and the other, and slightly more disturbing, is that his roommate is poking him in the cheek, standing in front of Harry wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs.

“Did you need something?” Harry asks, his voice scratchy from sleep. He smacks Nick’s hand away, and rolls onto his back, stretching out his limbs.

Nick doesn’t say anything, so Harry rubs at his face, throwing the blankets off his body. When he swings his legs over the edge, Nick steps out of the way and says, “I was a bit lonely, is all.” Harry raises an eyebrow. “And hungry.”

Right, Harry thinks, nodding. He’s been living with Nick for two years, and if it’s taught him anything, it’s that Nick is an overgrown child that should have never left his mother’s house. He’s incapable of anything, most especially of taking care of himself. He’d have withered away and died if it wasn’t for Harry, to be quite honest.

“Can you hold off long enough for me to shower, or do you need food now?” Harry asks, frowning, because he already knows the answer.

“Well, I don’t want to be a burden,” Nick sighs.

“Of course you don't.”

“But I would love an omelet, you don’t even have to be clean to make it,” Nick finishes, like Harry never said anything.

Harry nods, scratching his belly and following Nick out of his bedroom. Their place isn’t much, the tiniest little two-bedroom house that, in reality, shouldn’t even be a house. Harry’s never seen anything like it. It’s shotgun style wedged in between apartment buildings, ones that tower over them, with a bright blue door.

“What do you want in your omelet?” Harry shouts, because even though he’s in charge of cooking, Nick is in charge of…nothing. He does nothing. Harry’s not even sure what Nick does while he’s at school or at work, mostly because Nick is constantly found in his underwear watching television.

Nick doesn’t answer, so Harry grabs the ingredients that he likes, figuring that Nick can just get over it.

“Louis called while you were sleeping,” Nick explains, waltzing into the kitchen like Harry hadn’t just asked a question. “He said that he was in a rush getting to class, but that you,” Nick pauses, frowning, “um. I’m not sure what he said, if I’m being honest. It sounded like he was running.”

“He was probably on his way to class,” Harry sighs, because Louis is always late, which means he’s constantly seen running across campus. “But you don’t remember what he said?”

Nick shakes his head and props his bare feet on the table. “I don’t really care to listen to anything that Louis Tomlinson has to say, it’s never anything important.”

Harry sighs, dumping the first omelet on a plate and setting it down on the table after he smacks Nick’s feet off of it. Nick grins at him, a silent thank you that Harry ignores as he turns his back on him, starting on his own omelet.

\/\/\/\/\/

Caroline groans for the third time in two minutes, slouching against the wall and letting her body drag down to the ground. Harry watches her in amusement, trying not to laugh at her dramatics. It’s not like he’s not used to it, and work is slow today. He doesn’t blame her, he’d like to drop down on the floor and groan as well, but he lost rock, paper, scissors, earning himself the task of feeding all the dogs.

“How much longer until we get to go home?”

“Sorry, babe, but you’ve got another six hours,” Harry mutters, his voice strained as he drags the bag of dog food towards the cages. “And what are you complaining about? You’re not doing anything.”

“If you finish that without giving me shit about it, then I’ll run out right now and buy you a coffee,” she says, standing up slowly, grinning at him. “It’s a fair deal, Styles. It’s slow today, we’ve had two customers since your shift started, and no one will miss me.”

“I’ll miss you,” Harry says absently, scratching at the yellow lab’s ribs before he shuts their crate door, finally turning to look at Caroline. She’s got a hand on her hip, staring at him expectantly. “You should wear that color more often,” he comments, admiring the way that her cobalt shirt brings out the undertones of her dark skin. “It looks pretty on you.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Thank you, but if this is a ploy to keep me from leaving, I’m not falling for it.”

Harry sighs. “Fine, go get the coffees.”

She grins at him, pulling off her white apron with the black paw print on it, and tossing it at him before she rushes for her purse. “Thank you, love,” she calls before she’s gone, the bell above the door chiming behind her, signaling her departure.

“Well, looks like it’s just us, guys. Ladies, too,” he adds when Misty yaps at him, scratching at her door for food. He dips his cup into the bag of food and opens her crate, gently guiding her back so she doesn’t fall out. “I’d have gotten to you sooner if Caroline hadn’t interrupted.”

The dog ignores him, mouth already in her bowl and chewing on her food. He sighs, scratching her brown fur once more.

Working with animals is easy, sometimes. Feeding is the easy part, actually, controlling playtime when he has to take them out back, is not. But the shop is almost always vacant, giving him time to study and finish assignments when he’s wrapped up all his tasks, which makes it the perfect place to work while in school.

The bell above the door rings and Harry groans, feeding another dog before he drops the cup into the bag of food and wipes his hands off on his apron, getting rid of the crumbs stuck to them.

“I’ve got to get that,” Harry mutters to the dogs, listening to them as they bark at him. “I’ll be back, promise.”

The dogs don’t understand him, of course, but he’s going to talk to them anyway. They’re trapped in a cage, making conversation with them so they feel a little more loved is the least he can do

There’s a man standing in front of the kittens, wiggling his finger around between the bars as one of them swipes at it. He’s wearing a white shirt and dark jeans, a pair of combat boots on his feet. Harry hopes that he’s attractive, even if he’s got bony shoulders and a tiny little butt, he hopes he’s attractive, prays for it, actually. It’ll make his day so much better.

And even if he’s not, Harry can at least admire the head full of thick black hair, long and beginning to curl at the ends.

“Can I help you with anything?” Harry asks.

The man doesn’t turn around right away, and Harry resists the urge to think that’s rude. But when he does, it takes every ounce of will power that Harry really doesn’t have not to say ‘holy shit’ because standing in front of him, at his shitty little pet store job, is Zayn Malik.

“No, I’m okay,” Zayn says, smiling, his lips pressed together. “I just wanted to look around.”

Harry nods, his tongue heavy and suddenly dry. He wishes Caroline were here with his coffee. Only, not really. He wants the coffee not Caroline, she’d ruin this moment. He’s not sure how, just knows that she would.

“Is it alright if I go in there?” Zayn asks, pointing towards the room that the dogs are in. And technically no, customers aren’t allowed inside of it. They’re allowed to look inside of it, their faces pressed against the glass, fingers tapping it trying to get a certain dog’s attention. But Harry is not about to tell Zayn no.

“Oh god, of course,” he says and counts his lucky stars that his boss isn’t in today.

Harry takes a deep breath when Zayn’s safely inside the room, back turned towards him. He’s not going to freak out. He’s going to remain calm. It’s perfectly natural and normal that your favorite actor, no. That the most beautiful actor, person, whatever walks into your place of employment.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He can do this. He can totally do this.

He takes another deep breath before he follows, because he’s not going to leave Zayn alone in the room that customers aren’t allowed. If anything, like if he were to get caught, Harry can simply say he was trying to coax Zayn out of the room. That’s honestly the only reason he wants to stand in it with Zayn.

“That’s Howie,” he says, pointing towards the dog when Zayn turns to look at him. “He’s a shepherd mix. He’s really nice, a bit old, though. Not that that should matter. Dogs should get homes no matter how old they are.”

Zayn nods. “Of course, yeah.”

“Do you have any dogs?” Zayn shakes his head. Right. He knew that, actually. “Do you want one?”

“One day, yeah,” Zayn admits, smiling.

“That’s Misty,” Harry says next when Zayn shifts over to the Beagle’s crate. “She’s a bit of a diva, if I’m being honest. A good one, she just thinks she’s in charge. Tries to tackle Harley down there, he’s that massive pit. Luckily, though, he just kind of rolls onto his side, sometimes I think it’s because he’s playing along.”

Zayn steps back, taking a look at the dog Harry mentioned. “He’s beautiful,” Zayn comments, stepping over towards the crate with Harley inside of it. “He’s a blue, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, he is. He’s been here a while, came from a rescue that was shut down, unfortunately. Didn’t have the funds to stay open. No one seems to want him.”

Zayn’s smiling at the dog, fingers pressed in between the bars, allowing Harley access to his skin so the dog can lick him excitedly.

He stays for another five minutes, allowing Harry to introduce him to all of the dogs that they have, all ten of them, before he thanks him and says that he has to be on his way. Harry swallows down the disappointment, biting his lip to refrain from calling out to Zayn, wanting him to stay and never leave.

He doesn’t, of course. He’s not that desperate.

When the door shuts behind Zayn, Harry sags back against the wall, sliding down onto the ground, clutching his chest. He just met Zayn Malik, famous, international, award-winning actor, Zayn Malik. And he didn’t embarrass himself. It feels like he’s in a dream, the entire experience surreal and unbelievable, even to him. And he was here to witness it all.

The bell above the door rings and then he hears footsteps and, “What are you doing?”

Harry glances up and sees Caroline frowning at him, two paper cups filled with coffee in her hands. “Why are you on the floor?

“You’ll never guess who was just in here,” Harry breathes out, still refusing to stand, because his legs could give out. He might be hallucinating or something, and it’s only safe that he remains seated on the ground.

“A customer,” Caroline retorts back sarcastically, handing him his coffee. “It is shocking, I’m sure.”

“No, like, it’s someone you’ll never guess,” he says again, watching her.

She takes a drink from her cup, making a show of thinking. Harry fights the urge to jump up and scream Zayn’s name as loud as he can, loud enough that Zayn will hear it from where he just went next, hopefully far away. Harry doesn’t actually want him to see or hear Harry freak out.

“Was it Jay-Z?” She asks, grinning at him like it’s a joke.

“No, it wasn’t Jay-Z,” he mumbles, standing up, moving carefully so he doesn’t spill his coffee on himself.

“Then who was it?”

Harry looks at her, taking in her curious expression and something inside of him deflates. It feels like he’s about to reveal a secret that’s not his to share. It’s not his business telling Caroline that Zayn came into the store. Famous or not, he’s still a person, and Harry kind of wants to keep this to himself. He’ll probably never see him again, at least not off his television, and he just wants to keep this for himself, like a picture trapped inside of a locket, a private memory meant just for him and no one else, not even Caroline.

“Nevermind. It was no one, just a customer,” he mumbles, smiling at her as he takes a drink. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head before she turns and walks away.

Caroline probably thinks that he’s not the brightest, but that’s okay, he’ll take it if it means that he can hold onto his encounter with Zayn, tuck it away in the private parts of his mind for safe keeping, a place where only he can access.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry spends his shift thinking about Zayn, or well, is it really considered thinking when he’s altering reality to the point where he and Zayn had adopted a puppy and a kitten, had a wedding on a beach - somewhere Harry could feel the sand between his toes - and had enough time to watch the sunset in Zayn’s private jet, thousands of miles in the sky.

It was eventful, and Harry only got told off by Caroline once for daydreaming. That’s what it is, not thinking. He was daydreaming, fantasizing about what it would be like to date someone like Zayn Malik. He doesn’t even know him, not the real him anyway.

The real Zayn Malik is an enigma, a rubix cube that Harry hasn’t had the opportunity to figure out, at least not in the real world. In Harry’s daydreams he knows everything there is to know about Zayn.

“Earth to Harry,” Caroline says, waving her hand in front of Harry’s face. “Your shift is over, are you going to stand here all day or what?”

“No, no, I’m leaving,” he sighs, batting her hand away from his face. “How much longer do you have?”

“Little under two hours,” she replies, pouting. “Remind me to never do a double again, please.”

Harry smiles, leaning over to press a parting kiss to her cheek. “I can, but that doesn't mean you’ll listen.” She sighs, and the last thing Harry sees before he turns to exit the building is the sight of Caroline shrugging her shoulders.

It’s a short walk back to Harry’s place, just down the street, and the walk is short enough that he thinks maybe he could do it with his eyes closed, if he were coordinated enough. As it turns out, however, he’s not coordinated enough, so the three seconds he squeezes his eyes shut to test this theory, he finds himself slamming into a body, the feeling of liquid pouring down his chest. It’s warm and Harry’s eyes shoot open at the contact, already muttering out a slew of apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Harry stammers, patting the person’s chest, like he would do if he had a napkin, or some kind of cloth to clean up the liquid that’s spilled on them both. However, he doesn’t have a napkin, just his bare hands, which aren’t doing anything besides pushing the liquid – coffee, Harry thinks – further into the other guy’s shirt.

Tanned hands grab at Harry’s wrists, gently prying his fingers away from the fabric of the shirt, and Harry finally trails his eyes up, past the dark stains and up past the tattoo of red lips poking out from behind the— wait. Harry’s eyes widen.

“I’m so sorry,” he mutters again, finally staring into Zayn’s eyes, his skin prickling with embarrassment. “It was an accident.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, bending down to grab the paper cup off the ground, tossing it in the trash container on the corner. Harry takes the opportunity to glare up at the sky, cursing whoever or whatever caused this to happen.

Zayn smiles at him and it makes Harry feel even worse, because he completely ruined Zayn’s outfit. It probably cost a fortune, if he had to guess. He’s heard about celebrities, the way that they buy clothes that look cheap enough, like something Harry could afford with his pet store paycheck, but they’re actually worth hundreds of dollars. A shirt could cost as much as Harry’s rent. And that’s probably what happened here, he should offer to pay for it.

“I’m really clumsy,” Harry says instead, because he can’t afford to pay for the shirt. “I trip all the time. Everywhere, just…on air.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“I ruined your shirt.”

Zayn nods and shrugs. “I guess you could say that I ruined yours,” he mutters, motioning towards the dark stain on Harry’s own shirt.

“I definitely ruined this on my own. I can’t believe I did that.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head and Harry feels a little dumb. It’s not like Zayn is laughing at him, per se, but he still feels like an idiot. It really was an accident, he’s prone to these sorts of things, but it’s a little more embarrassing when he’s spilling coffee on not only himself, but also someone else. Someone else being Zayn Malik.

“I was trying to walk home with my eyes closed,” Harry admits, biting his bottom lip. Zayn’s mouth curls up in amusement. “I live just down the street, wanted to see if I could make it there without a problem.”

“This just seems like a minor bump in the road,” Zayn comments, still smiling at Harry, like he finds the whole thing amusing.

Harry nods, because technically he’s right. It’s not like Harry took a turn or anything, he didn’t end up going the wrong way, he just bumped into someone. Which, in retrospect, that really is the main problem with walking with your eyes closed.

“I should probably get going,” Zayn says, pulling at his wet, no doubt sticky shirt.

Harry’s eyes widen, because he needs to do something to make this up to Zayn. Anything, really. He can’t be remembered as the guy who poured coffee on him, he can’t turn into a funny story that Zayn talks about in interviews.

Without thinking, when Zayn’s a few steps away from him, already on his way to his hotel or wherever, Harry blurts out, “You could come back to mine.”

Zayn turns to look at him, eyeing him suspiciously. “Pardon?”

“My place, um. You could come back to it,” Harry repeats, rubbing sweaty palms against his jeans. “It’s just down the street.”

“Close enough that you can navigate your way there with your eyes closed,” Zayn jokes, grinning and Harry’s skin flushes red, embarrassment coursing through his veins.

“Yeah. I just. I feel bad for what happened, and I’d like to make it up to you.”

“At your place?” Zayn asks, eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, and the line of his shoulders goes taut. Harry frowns, because did he say something wrong? Zayn’s looking at him, a little more annoyed than Harry would have thought, and he didn’t mean to annoy him. He doesn’t understand why spilling coffee on Zayn is all right but asking him to his place isn’t.

And oh. Okay.

“No. Wow. No, not like that. Um,” Harry scratches at the back of his neck, wishing that he could stop being embarrassed for a few seconds, “like, for a new shirt. Not for- just for the shirt, I promise.”

Zayn takes a deep breath, eyes squinted as he stares off down the street behind Harry, like he’s looking for Harry’s place. Or like he’s thinking. Probably thinking, really.

“Alright,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I can’t get a hold of my driver, so I could use a new shirt.”

\/\/\/\/\/

“The house with the blue door,” Zayn mutters from behind Harry while he unlocks the door.

“Yeah, it makes it easy for people to find,” Harry comments, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. He looks inside cautiously, trying to listen for any signs of Nick.

Nick is the last person that he wants to see right now, but luckily he can’t hear anything, just the sounds from behind him.

“Home sweet home,” Harry sings, pushing open the door further to allow Zayn entry. He smiles at him and then turns around quickly, rushing off to start cleaning up. “Make yourself at home,” he says, grabbing bits of his and Nick’s dirty laundry, tossing them all into different areas of the house, except for the bathroom and his bedroom. They feel like the only two places that Zayn would go.

He jumps when he turns around and sees Zayn close behind him. “Um. Sorry about the mess,” he mutters. “My roommate is an idiot.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn says, smiling. He’s looking around, sizing up Harry’s place, taking in the posters and art on the walls, the shoes littering the floor, the breakfast dishes still in the sink. Harry wonders how it compares to the five-star places that Zayn frequents, if Zayn cares enough at all to compare the two.

Harry feels out of his element, even though this is his territory. This is his house. He pays the bills and the rent, half of them anyway, so he shouldn’t feel like he has no control. If anything it should be Zayn that is worried.

Harry’s stomach churns in guilt, because he shouldn’t be thinking like this. Zayn is, after all, just like him. Sure, he’s a little well known and Harry could turn on the television right now and find someone talking about Zayn or a movie of his, but those are his choices, it doesn’t make him that much different, not really. Not enough for Harry to feel out of place in his own home.

“My bedroom is this way,” Harry says, motioning behind him. Zayn raises an eyebrow at him and Harry blushes. Zayn makes him feel silly. “No, um. For a shirt.”

“You lead the way,” Zayn says, smiling and Harry nods, turning and heading towards his bedroom. He spares a glance towards the sky again, a silent apology for cursing whoever or whatever did this earlier, because he’s thankful that his room is put together and that his apartment is clean and that Nick isn’t home. It means that today isn’t as embarrassing as he originally thought it was going to be.

“Is a white shirt alright?” Harry asks, digging through his closet for something, picking up the first shirt he grabs, smelling it to make sure that it’s clean. It smells decent enough, like a mixture of his laundry soap and his cologne. He tries not to smile at the thought of Zayn smelling like him, the lingering scent of Harry following him around, engraving Harry a bit more into his memory.

“That’s fine,” Zayn says, taking the shirt from Harry, his eyes scanning the books on Harry’s desk. “Are you in school?” Harry nods. “So this is what college life is like, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, head tilted to the side.

“You know, desk piled high with papers and books, a sink full of dishes, clothes tossed on the floor of your closet instead of hung up properly, or at least folded and put in the drawers,” Zayn says, motioning towards the dresser next to Harry’s desk, one of the drawers pulled open, clothes hanging out of it. Harry blushes.

“I don’t know if it’s college life, doesn’t everyone get a little sloppy?” He asks, watching Zayn shrug.

“I don’t know, my housekeeper wouldn’t be very good at her job if my clothes were all over the floor,” Zayn comments. And right, of course he has a housekeeper. Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods like he understands, like his housekeeper has the day off and that’s why his place is such a disaster. “I’m joking,” Zayn laughs, shaking his head.

“Right. Yeah. I knew that,” Harry says, nodding. “Or well, I had a feeling.”

Zayn’s smile slowly fades away, and he looks thoughtful, big hazel eyes watching Harry closely before he tugs his shirt off his body. And okay. Harry wasn’t expecting that. He stands there, taking a step back until he bumps into his closet door and watches as Zayn shrugs on the white shirt that Harry gave him. It’s loose on him, not baggy, but loose, so unlike the tight fit on Harry’s body.

“Um, do you want me to wash that?” Harry asks, motioning towards the shirt on the floor. “You'd have to wait. Or um, I don’t know. You could send your driver here to get it later.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, you can keep it. I’m not worried about it.”

“But it’s your shirt,” Harry says, frowning. Why would he keep it?

“And you ruined it,” Zayn says, smiling at him, his tongue pressing up against his teeth. Harry feels like he could be sick, really and truly sick all over his bedroom floor. He’s seen that smile before, but he had thought it was only one Zayn did for movie roles, not one he just throws out casually, like when he’s in a relative stranger’s bedroom.

It really is too much. And it really is inconsiderate of Zayn, to just throw that smile out at Harry when they’re standing in Harry’s bedroom of all places. His knees feel weak.

“Do you want some lunch?” Harry asks, because he needs to do something. He needs to do something with his hands besides trying to get them to stop shaking at his sides.

“No, I should probably get going,” Zayn comments, checking the time on his watch. “I’ve still got a lot to do today.”

“Are you sure? I could make you something. Anything you wanted.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’ve got a fully stocked kitchen, I think. I can’t remember,” Harry says, biting his lip. All he remembers is that he’s got a sink full of dishes from the omelets that he made this morning. Everything else about his kitchen is a blur, really, even the wall color.

Zayn laughs lightly, shaking his head. “No, thanks though, I appreciate it, the shirt as well as the offer of food.”

Harry nods and releases a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing a bit more with it. He feels sad, knowing that this is the last time that he’ll see Zayn. And he did think that earlier, but he doubts that he can bump into Zayn again and spill more coffee on him. Fate is never on Harry’s side like that, not when he really wants it to be.

“You gonna walk me out?” Zayn asks, turning to exit Harry’s bedroom.

“Of course,” Harry says, shaking himself out of his thoughts and rushing to follow Zayn to his door.

They stop when they get there, Harry’s hand wrapped around the knob and smiling at Zayn. “It was really nice to meet you today,” he says, feeling sheepish. “You’re really great. You know that, right? That you’re really great?”

“I’ve heard,” Zayn mumbles, biting his lip.

“Of course you have,” Harry says, feeling silly again. He hates that Zayn makes him feel this way, he wants to feel confident and self assured like he usually does, not like Zayn is grabbing him at the seams and slowly unraveling him. “I just wanted to tell you for myself. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You already said that,” Zayn notes, biting back a smile.

“Right. I did, didn’t I? But like, it’s true. It’s been surreal, but nice. You’re surreal. But nice,” he says, frowning. He’s having trouble finding words. “It’s kind of like a painting, or a dream. More so a dream, I guess. Paintings are tangible objects that exist, and you exist, obviously, but I don’t think I’ll be able to remember that this moment ever existed because-”

Zayn darting forward and pressing their lips together, forces Harry to swallow the rest of his embarrassing rant. It’s short and soft, _so soft_ , and Harry makes a noise that he can only describe as an awkward sort of whine, one out of shock, and one of pure…

No, it’s really just shock. Zayn’s kissing him, with his soft lips and quick tongue, licking gently at his lips. And Harry feels robbed when Zayn pulls away before he can open his mouth. It’s not nice to be teased like that.

“Oh,” is the only thing that Harry can think to say after the fog in his mind clears. “Definitely a dream,” he adds, much to Zayn’s amusement.

“See you, Harry,” Zayn says before he goes, hand brushing against Harry’s when he pulls the door open.

Harry stands dumbfounded for god knows how long, staring at his front door, wondering if today has been a giant, elaborate hallucination, or if he really did just kiss Zayn Malik.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry goes to class that afternoon feeling a bit like a zombie. He forgets his book, paper, and a pen. He’s completely unprepared. The girl next to him looks annoyed when he asks for supplies and doesn’t use them, at least not like he should. He’s drawing circles, doodling as his mind races on thoughts of Zayn.

He’s still not convinced that any of it happened, if he really met Zayn at work, if he really spilled coffee on him and had to bring him back to his place, if he really watched Zayn put on one of his shirts, leaving Harry the soiled one, and if he really kissed Zayn goodbye.

Harry’s tempted to lean over and tap the girl next to him on the shoulder, to ask her if he looks any different, if he looks like someone who felt Zayn Malik’s tongue against his mouth. But it’s not any of her business, and he doesn't want to share this information with anyone. He wants to take it, lock it away, store it in the back of his mind, tucked away in one of the places that you only access really late at night, when your mind is drifting off in every direction, revealing your deepest desires.

It’s when he finds that his circles have changed into little hearts with something that even he can’t argue aren’t tiny little Z’s inside of them that he realizes he’s in over his head. He folds the paper in half, checking out of the corner of his eye that the girl next to him hasn’t been spying on him. Then he sets the pen down and takes a deep breath, lifting his eyes up to stare at the professor, a balding man with thick-rimmed glasses. He’s talking about something.

Harry can’t even remember what class he’s in. All he can hear is Zayn’s voice as he left Harry’s apartment, telling him that he’d see him.

God, Harry hopes that he does.

\/\/\/\/\/

“Have you seen the trailer for that new movie?” Caroline asks, finger pressed inside of the kitten cage, scratching at the little orange tabby’s chin.

“Which one?” Harry asks, turning away from the shelves where he’s restocking cat food to look at her, because there have been a lot of new movie trailers lately.

“The Zayn Malik one, it looks like it’s going to be really good,” she comments, still not looking at him.

It’s been two days since that day with Zayn and Harry feels like he can’t escape him. He’s everywhere. Literally. Harry sees him on all of the magazine covers when he’s at the store, or walking home. He hears people talking about him in class. Nick is constantly watching his movies on their television. And now, apparently, Harry can’t even escape him at work.

“Have you seen it?” She repeats and Harry shakes his head. He’s seen it thirty times, he counted, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s trying to forget; even if Zayn’s beautiful, perfectly wonderful face is everywhere.

“It doesn’t look like the kind of thing I’d be into, but Zayn’s so lovely. I’ll probably see it anyway.”

“He’s a great actor,” Harry agrees, nodding. He’s seen most of Zayn’s movies, knows that there was that one year where he seemed to be winning all of the awards, like it had been rigged and Hollywood forgot anyone else’s name. Harry can't blame them for giving him all the awards.

“He’s amazing in a lot of respects, I think,” she says, sighing, finally moving to help him restock shelves. “He has a wonderful sense of fashion. I know that he’s probably got a stylist - I’d love to be his stylist, but I read somewhere that he picks out a lot of his own clothing. Do you think that’s true?”

“Probably. Why wouldn’t he if he’s going to be the one wearing it?”

“I don’t know,” Caroline says, shrugging. “Lots of celebrities have horrible taste in clothes, isn’t that why they need stylists?”

“That’s a good point, is that what they teach you in all those fashion classes you take?” Harry asks.

She smiles at him, rolling her eyes. “I wish that they’d teach me about Zayn Malik. Do you reckon he’s one of those humble celebrities? You know, one of the ones that don’t let the fame get to them, and are still super friendly. Or do you think he’s one of those snotty, above everyone kind of celebrities?”

“I bet he’s friendly,” Harry comments, nodding. Zayn was more than friendly with Harry, even after he ruined his shirt. The one folded neatly in Harry’s drawer, cleaned of its stain.

“He’s beautiful, though, so he’s probably a bit of a snob. Loads of the pretty celebs are snobby. Do you think he knows how pretty he is?”

Harry shrugs, shoving another bag of cat food on the shelf, a little rougher than intended.

“I bet he does. How could he not? The interviewers are always telling him, and I’ve seen people on Twitter, god. They send him some of the raunchiest tweets. I’m not even sure he’s on much, not usually, but I bet hearing things like that would just remind him how pretty he is.”

“Well, nothing wrong with being confident,” Harry remarks, feeling the need to come to other man’s defense because Zayn is handsome, and if he knows it, then so be it. It’s not anything to say is wrong with him. He’s still a good person. “He does charity work, you know. He’s constantly donating and trying to get others involved. It’s not like he’s just beautiful.”

Caroline looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “Have you been searching him up on the Internet?”

“No,” he says, because he really hasn’t. He remembers reading an article in one of Nick’s magazines a few months back, one that talked about celebrities and their charity work. It had commented on how generous Zayn was. He didn’t think anything of it then, but it feels important now. Like one of those details that makes you feel a little bit more for someone, not like Harry needs to feel more, or wants to feel more. It’s just nice to know he’s a good person.

“Is that true, though?” She asks, looking thoughtful. “Do you think that celebrities lie about charity? Not saying he does, but I’ve always wondered.”

“You don’t even know him,” Harry says, all but hissing the words out at her. He tries not to glare, but he’s probably failing. Caroline doesn’t know Zayn, but she’s talking about him like she does. It’s not right.

“What’s your problem?” Caroline asks, frowning at him, folding her arms over her chest. She can be really intimidating when she wants to be, but Harry isn’t going to fall for it. He’s going to put his foot down and he’s not going to be intimidated by her.

“He’s not a piece of meat, Caroline. He’s a real person, with real feelings, and how would you expect him to feel knowing that you’re saying these things about him. Hmm? I bet he wouldn’t like it,” Harry tells her, folding his own arms on his chest and staring at her like she’s doing him. She’s honestly being ridiculous.

“Did you eat today? You always get a bit cranky when your blood sugar is low,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Hold on, I’ve got some gum.” She digs into her pocket, pulling out a packet and handing him a piece. “It’s not food, but it’ll give you a little boost until your shift is over.”

Harry sighs and takes the gum from her. “Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s alright, love,” she says, shrugging. “But are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to take your break early? Get something to eat?”

Harry shakes his head, feeling sheepish. He smiles at her once more before he goes back to work, trying to act like he didn’t just lash out at one of his friends. It’s just that, now that he’s had a conversation with Zayn, it feels wrong to talk about him in a way that’s…well, it’s not degrading, what Caroline was saying, but. He sighs, he doesn’t know anymore. He just wants to go back to the point of his life where he wasn’t being haunted by Zayn’s presence.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry’s tired when he gets home from work. He doesn’t have class, luckily, and he’s caught up with his assignments, so he relishes in the fact that he can drop down on the couch, face shoved into the cushion and just relax.

Work had ended up being a bit of a nightmare, really. Caroline had talked about Zayn a bit more, until they had to let the dog’s outside. One of them escaped, somehow digging a hole under the fence. Harry thinks it might have been some kind of prison escape, one that you see in the movies where the prisoner works on digging a hole through the walls for months with a spoon they stole from the cafeteria. Except in this case, it was a dog. A little brown dachshund named Clover that made Harry chase her down the block, screaming her name like a maniac as she got a taste of freedom.

It was just exhausting. Harry is exhausted. He’s going to lie on this couch, watch – he stops, straining his ears to hear what Nick’s watching – a cooking show and do nothing else. Absolutely nothing. When it’s time to eat, they’re going to order take-out from the Vietnamese place down the street.

He’s literally not getting up from this couch for the rest of the day.

“You left your phone here while you were at work,” Nick says, tapping Harry’s leg.

“I know,” Harry mumbles, voice muffled by the couch cushion. “Did you need something?”

“No, but it was ringing all afternoon,” Nick comments and Harry rolls over, huffing. “I took to answering it just to make it stop.”

“Yeah? Who was it that called?”

The television is paused and Harry leans up on his elbows, staring at Nick.

“Your mother called. She said she’s been trying to reach you for almost a week now,” Nick informs him, shaking his head, like he’s ashamed of Harry. “You should call her back, it’s not right that you’re not keeping in contact with her.”

“I’ve been busy,” Harry tells him, wanting to come to his own defense. It’s not like he’s ignoring his mother. He replies to all of her texts, even if they come every day, but he just doesn’t see the point in talking to her every single day. He has things that he has to do, like schoolwork, or catching up on sleeping. Or working, a place where he can’t talk on the phone, unless he’s on his break, but who wants to spend their break on the phone?

“Well, I talked to her for a while. Think it was about an hour,” Nick says, eyebrows pulling together in thought. “And Gemma called.”

“She did?” Harry asks, sitting up properly. He hasn’t spoken to his sister in what feels like ages. He’s a bit upset that he missed it.

Nick nods. “She wanted to tell you that you need to call your mother, I guess Anne called her as well.”

Harry frowns and then sighs. He really does need to call his mother. She’ll call Louis next if he doesn’t, and he doesn’t want that. Louis will make him feel far guiltier than his mother ever could.

“Oh, and someone else called,” Nick says, and Harry looks at him, waiting for him to finish, but Nick’s not acting like he’s going to. He’s staring down at his nails, inspecting them.

“And?” Harry prompts, annoyed. “Who was it?”

“I don’t really remember his name, now do I. Otherwise I’d tell you.”

“It’s three people, how could you forget all of this?”

“He gave me a funny name.”

“What name was it?” Harry groans, resisting the urge to fall back and hit his head on the cushion. He’s not going to be overdramatic about this, but if Nick is going to answer his phone then he can at least relay his messages properly.

“I don’t know. I’ve already said that,” Nick replies, rolling his eyes. “But he said that he was staying at The Ritz, and that he wanted you to call him. Then he gave me a name, said to use that and you’ll be directed to his room.”

Harry frowns, because he doesn’t know anyone that could possibly afford to stay in The Ritz. At least not anyone he knows with his phone number. How could anyone possibly get his number? He shakes his head, because that’s such a silly question. These things are on the Internet, probably. Somewhere. He’s never checked. The only numbers he cares about having are the ones in his phone, so it’s kind of silly that he’d go online and search for people’s cell phone numbers.

Harry sighs and shrugs, because he’s likely to never know who called. Not unless they call again.

“It sounded like that guy that’s always on television,” Harry’s ears perk up in interest, “you know, the one. Um. Zayn. He sounded like that Zayn Malik.”

“Where’s my phone?” Harry shouts, jumping off the couch and rushing around the room, tossing pillows and scattering the magazines on the table. “Where is it? Where did you hide it?” He turns, ready to place his hands on his hips and glare at Nick when he sees that the other boy is holding it out towards him, already flicking back on the television with the remote.

He immediately unlocks it and heads to his call log, pressing the only number that’s not programmed into his phone and waiting. He paces, glaring at Nick every time he turns to face him and he honestly expects no one to answer the phone, like Nick is pranking him or something, but then a man with a funny accent is talking into his ear, muttering out a greeting.

“Hi. Yes. Hello. Um, I got a message earlier, from someone staying at your hotel.”

“Do you have the name, sir?”

“Right. Yeah. His name is Zayn.”

“Zayn what, sir?”

Harry lets out a deep breath and says, “Malik. Zayn Malik.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we have no one here by that name.”

“No. I know, like, he’s probably got some super top-secret fake name that I’m supposed to use, but I don’t know it. Can you put me through, anyway? I promise that I’m not a creep,” he assures, looking at Nick for confirmation. Nicks does a dramatic wink, forcing an eye roll out of Harry.

“Sir, I’m afraid that we cannot help you,” the man on the phone says and Harry sighs, ready to admit defeat. He can feel his shoulders droop in disappointment, and he’s trying not to let it show on his face, how upset and embarrassed he is. But then Nick’s saying,

“He said to use the name The Green Lantern.”

“Hold on a second,” Harry mumbles into the phone, pulling it away from his ear so the man on the other end can’t hear him say, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Green Lantern. That’s the name,” Nick tells him again, nodding, trying to encourage Harry to listen to him. He sighs, preparing himself to make a fool out of himself once more. It seems like a trend with Zayn, constantly being embarrassed.

Putting the phone back to his ear, Harry says, “Could I please speak to The Green Lantern?”

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry feels out of place when he walks into the hotel. It’s over an office building, so he has to go through a lobby that doesn’t give away the posh details of the hotel.

It’s The Ritz, so Harry was under no assumptions that it would be anything other than extravagant. But he wasn’t exactly prepared for how lavish it actually was going to be.

The elevators open to a lobby with high, coffered ceilings. A sun roof in the center, above a fountain. A fountain, inside. Harry stares at it, the marble bottom and double swan statue in the center.

It’s nice, Harry notes, looking around in awe. He’s tempted to take a seat in one of the chairs filling the room, to see if they’re really as plush and lovely as they look. But he thinks that he might be underdressed to hang around in this lobby. He wore a button up, and it’s burgundy - a color that this hotel seems to love, if their furniture is anything to go by - but he’s got the top three buttons undone. It’s not—well, glancing around, most of the others in the lobby have their shirts done up properly. Not like Harry, exposing his bare chest and the top of the butterfly on his abdomen.

Harry doesn’t waste another minute in the lobby; instead he rushes off to the elevators leading towards the rooms, eyes casted downwards as to not draw attention to himself.

The elevator plays horrible music, an attempt at smooth jazz, and when the elevator dings, alerting him that he’s finally made it to the thirtieth floor, Harry falls out gratefully. Smiling to the woman still inside, a silent attempt at wishing her luck as she heads up four more floors.

It’s a short walk to Zayn’s room, or at least it feels short as Harry counts down the numbers on the doors.

3014.

Harry stares at the number, biting his bottom lip. It’s been a full day since his phone call with Zayn and he feels like he should have called first. At least to check and make sure that Zayn would be here, or if he still wanted to meet Harry. He very easily could have changed his mind, and Harry wouldn’t blame him. Not in the least. After all, he’s just a random student that works in a pet shop, not anyone special. Not anyone important. Not anyone worth inviting to your luxury suite in an overstated hotel.

He knocks and waits, does it before he chickens out and rushes back to the smooth jazz of the elevator.

It’s a few seconds later, after he hears a few voices before the door’s pulled open. It’s Zayn, of course, and he looks. He looks good. His hair is slicked back today, pulled up and out of his face. It accentuates his cheekbones marvelously. It looks better than any of the times Harry has pulled his hair up, it’s smooth and his hair looks soft.

Harry opens his mouth to tell Zayn how great he looks, how much he loves his grey sweater and his hair, his facial hair even, all trimmed nicely, an accomplishment that Harry has yet to achieve, but he notices a man in the back of Zayn’s hotel room, sitting at a rounded table in the corner. Harry frowns. He wasn’t aware there were going to be other guests. Zayn didn’t say anything.

“Who are you?” The man asks, and Harry makes to answer, ready to tell him who he is, except a little ruder than intended, because this man is being rude. Whoever he is, he’s rude. And Harry doesn't like it. He has every right to be in Zayn’s room. Zayn invited him.

“This is Robert James,” Zayn explains, closing the door behind Harry. And Harry turns to look at him, frowning. “He’s with another publication, just a bit early, is all.”

“Ah,” the man says, nodding. “What publication is it that you’re from, exactly?”

“Um.” Harry glances down at the carpet.

“You can wait on the couch over there,” Zayn instructs, brushing his fingers gently across Harry’s arm. When Harry looks up, he nods at him, and something about his expression tells Harry that he should play along, and that he’ll explain later.

“Right. Of course,” Harry says, walking over towards the couch. It’s black and just as lovely as Harry thought it would be, soft under his fingertips and it feels like he melts into it. He imagines this is what it must feel like lounging on clouds, if you could.

He zones out of the conversation that’s taking place across the room. It sounds like it’s just an interview, and it’d be okay, really, if Harry wanted to listen in on it. But it doesn’t feel right. So he takes a look around the suite, memorizing the details of the mini-kitchen, the dining area where Zayn is doing his interview. If he leans a little bit to the left, just slightly, then he can see the bedroom area.

The bed is unmade, sheets crumbled and bunched up in the center of the bed. He wonders, briefly, if Zayn had been tossing and turning all night like he had. If he had been worrying about if Harry would show up, or about whatever reason he called him over. Harry had. Harry was awake all night, and was almost relieved when his alarm went off in the morning, alerting him that he needed to be up for his morning class.

Harry tunes his attention towards the conversation Zayn’s having when he hears:

“I’m sorry for wrapping this up so soon, but I really do have to stay on schedule,” Zayn says, and Harry notes that he’s motioning towards Harry. He bets that the man is rolling his eyes, annoyed at Harry for interrupting his time with Zayn, something so many people want.

“Yes, of course. I completely understand,” he says, but the way he looks at Harry says otherwise. “It’s always a pleasure, Zayn.”

Zayn smiles. “Let me walk you out.”

Harry watches them walk towards the door as he stands, moving across the room. He holds his arms behind his back, waiting. And when the door closes, Zayn turns to him and says, “I am so sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s alright. I was a bit early, anyway. I should be apologizing to you.”

“No. No. My manager called me this morning. She never bothered to tell me about them,” Zayn says, and he attempts to run his fingers through his hair, until he remembers that it’s up. He drops them down to his side, sighing. “Maybe she told me. I can’t remember.”

Harry nods, wetting his lips. They’re alone, finally. And Harry’s scared to ask what he’s doing here, so he settles on, “Do these things always take place in hotel rooms? Interviews, that is.”

“Depends really,” Zayn shrugs, “Usually they’re at a neutral location, or like, if they are in a hotel, then it’s usually in some kind of board room. But they’re all in use today, so I said fuck it and told them to come up here.”

“Aren’t you worried what they’ll write about the room?” Harry asks, because Zayn’s bed is unmade, and his suitcase is flipped over in the corner. And he’s got bits of food scattered across the counter, Harry’s just kind of noticing that it’s a huge mess.

“Not really,” Zayn replies, shrugging again. “What are they going to say? Zayn Malik’s newest movie, comes out September 19th, but in other news, he can’t seem to clean up his boxers.”

“Zayn Malik? Why wouldn't he call you The Green Lantern?” Harry asks, grinning wickedly when Zayn blushes. It’s about time he blushes for once.

“Oh god,” Zayn groans, covering his face. “It’s for privacy, obviously. I can’t use my real name, so I use superheroes.”

“You like superheroes?”

Zayn releases a deep breath, nodding. “Wanted to be one for the longest time. Spent most of my childhood wishing that I would be, like, maybe it was going to be like in Harry Potter. They didn’t really find out about their magical abilities until they were 11. The muggle-born ones at least.”

“You were hoping to be muggle-born?”

“Something like that,” Zayn admits, his cheeks still pink. It’s cute. Adorable, actually.

“That’s cute,” Harry tells him, because it feels wrong not to. Zayn smiles at him, muttering out a quiet thanks, and because Harry has no filter. Because his mouth and his brain aren’t properly in sync, and his mouth does things he doesn’t want, he blurts out, “Are you doing anything later?”

He’s ready to apologize, to take it back, but Zayn’s cutting him off, telling him, “I am, yeah.”

“Right. Of course. Me too,” Harry says, nodding. “I’ve got to work in an hour, actually.”

“Well, then I guess I shouldn’t keep you.”

“Right,” he says, shrugging. He wants to tell him that he can, keep him, that is, because really, they’re supposed to adopt puppies and kittens, get married on the beach, and fly off into the sunset together. He’s seen it happen. In his dreams, but it’s happened. And that counts for something.

“I wanted to apologize to you,” Zayn mutters, scratching at his jaw. “For kissing you. I shouldn’t have done that.” Oh. That’s…okay. That’s not what Harry was expecting to come out of this whole thing. “I had my manager track down your number, because I wanted to make sure you knew that I was sorry about doing that. I don’t know why I did it,” Zayn says, scratching at the back of his neck. “Are you, like, cool with it?”

“Oh. Um, right. Yeah. I’m cool with that,” Harry says, nodding frantically, trying to make himself believe it. He’s okay with the kiss, more than okay with it. He’s not really okay with Zayn apologizing for it, like it was wrong, or dirty. Or anything other than wonderful.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s like I said,” Harry mumbles, breathing out deeply through his nose. “It was surreal, but nice. Kind of like a dream, but I guess now it was definitely a dream. Except in my dream you’re not sorry.” Harry shrugs, because he’s going to be honest with him.

“What would happen next in the dream?” Zayn asks, looking at him, thoughtful and admiring.

“Well, obviously, you’d be lying. Or you’d never have said that bit about being sorry, actually,” Harry says, tapping his chin as he thinks. “And we’d be making out on that bed, like, properly. Tongues and all.” He points to his left, towards the rumbled blankets he observed earlier.

Zayn nods, tongue coming out to wet his lips, and Harry watches the movement sadly, sighing, because unfortunately, this isn’t a dream.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry’s shift is nearly over, and he finds himself in front of the kitten enclosure. They’re not like the bigger cats, living in a giant room in the back, if they’re friendly enough, that is. No, the kittens are stuck in a crate, a big one, all of them housed together – if they’re not still nursing. Harry doesn’t understand why his manager has it this way, but there’s not much he can do about it.

“Today has been long,” Harry tells them, unlocking the door so that he can stick his hand inside and play with them, to pet them properly. “Not like you’d know about that, would you?”

They mewl at him in unison, all of them making noise at once and rushing towards his hand.

“I don’t have any food right now,” he informs them, “sorry. It’s just me.” One of them swats at his hand when he wiggles his finger, playfully, he suspects. “You wouldn’t believe the day that I had.”

One of them meows at him, nudging his hand with its head, silently encouraging him to continue, or so he’d like to think.

“Class was a nightmare. We had a quiz, a pop quiz. Obviously I wasn’t prepared,” Harry says, because no one is, not for a surprise. “And then I had lunch with Niall. He just got a job at a record store, by the way, so he’s no longer unemployed.”

One of the kittens meows loudly at that. “I know, I’m happy for him too. And it’s just in time for his birthday. But anyway, then I went to see Zayn. And I know that name means nothing to you guys, but it should. He’s great, really. But he apologized for kissing me.”

Harry frowns remembering it, the sour taste coming back to his mouth, the slight twist of his gut. It’s upsetting, actually. That kiss had foolishly meant something to him, and nothing to Zayn. He sighs, scratching underneath one of the kitten’s chin’s, feeling the vibration of its purr on his skin.

“I really liked the kiss,” he admits quietly, like the kittens understand him.

Harry hears the bell above the door ring and he groans, pulling his hand out of the kitten crate and quickly shutting it. As he locks it he shouts, “Sorry, but we’re closing. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well, then I guess I’ll just be going.” And it’s Zayn. Harry is staring at Zayn, his mouth dropping open a bit.

“No,” he shouts, wincing. “No. Sorry. You can stay, you’re more than welcome to stay.” Zayn smiles and nods, and Harry’s stomach twists in the most pleasant of ways. Zayn came to see him, at work. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t have any plans this evening, not anymore,” Zayn tells him, shoving his hands in his pockets. Trying to, anyway. One of them keeps missing, his hands sliding across the front of his jeans until he manages to get a couple fingers inside of it. “I, uh, remembered that you said you were working, so I thought I’d come and see if you still wanted to do something.”

“Of course. Yes, I’d love to,” Harry says, pulling his apron off. “I’ve just got to close this place up and then we can-” He stops himself, frowning, and realization takes over. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s my best friend’s birthday tonight. I completely forgot. We’re having a dinner for him at another friend’s place. Well, two friends, really. Oh god,” he groans, because fuck fate. Fuck it completely. Of course Zayn would ask him out on the one night he has an obligation. “I could get out of it,” he says, wincing when the image of Niall angry flashes through his mind.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll go with you,” Zayn says, shrugging.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll go with you,” Zayn repeats. “I’ll be your date.”

“You’ll be my date?” Harry mutters, not believing any of this for a second.

“If you’d like. It can go along with your dream, right?”

“Right. Yes, absolutely, because this is completely and utterly a dream,” Harry tells him, still in disbelief. “Well, I should warn you. My friend Louis is cooking, and he is downright horrible at it. He tries, though, and that’s what matters.”

“Probably better than room service, I’d reckon,” Zayn says and he smiles at Harry, shrugging. “So, am I going to be your date tonight?”

\/\/\/\/\/

“Are you going to knock?” Zayn asks, looking at Harry thoughtfully.

Harry nods, releasing a deep breath. “Of course, yeah. But like, I should warn you about my friends.”

“I’m sure they’re alright.” And of course Zayn says that, he’s never actually met them. He wouldn’t—he doesn’t know any better. They are alright, of course they are. Harry wouldn’t be friends with them if they weren’t. But…

“They can be a bit much, sometimes,” he warns, frowning. “Like, Louis gets a bit loud, and he’s kind of brash. You’ll learn to get used to him, it takes a minute, though.”

“That’s fine.”

“And Liam, well. He used to be fairly tame, but Louis might’ve corrupted him a bit. He’s nothing like Louis, but they feed off each other. Other than that, he’s fairly sweet for the most part,” Harry sighs, shoulders sagging slightly. “You’ll understand when you see them. It’s hard to explain, they’re an odd pair.”

“Harry, it’ll be fi-”

“Oh, god. And Niall,” Harry mumbles, cutting him off, because Niall is going to be… It’s, well, maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. He hadn’t told anyone that he was bringing Zayn. He did, however, mention that he’d be bringing a boy, a date, when Zayn jabbed him in the rib, smiling smugly when Harry had to correct himself. But maybe he should have told them it was Zayn. Oh god, he’s going to be sick. It’s too late now, though. They’ll have to brave it. “I’m not sure there’s a way to prepare you for Niall. He’s well, you’ll see, won’t you?”

“I will, yes,” Zayn says, nodding. “Or well, I could. If you ever decide to knock.”

“Right, okay. If you’re sure,” Harry mutters, looking at Zayn once more, and when the other boy raises his eyebrow, he knocks, knuckles against the wood.

If Harry were another person, the kind who skipped out on his best friend’s birthday, he’d run. Grab Zayn by the hand and rush off down the street, possibly hide in the neighbor’s bushes if Louis or Liam take much longer to answer the door. But before he has time to follow through with this plan, the door is being ripped open, Louis isn’t there, but Harry sees him rushing off, shouting over this shoulder,

“Come in, come in. Minor accident in the kitchen.”

“I told you he was horrible,” Harry mutters, holding the door open for Zayn. Zayn smiles at him, and he looks nervous, a little scared. “It’ll be alright,” Harry whispers, squeezing his hand gently, smiling.

“Is something burning?” Zayn asks and Harry laughs, a loud noise that startles Zayn, forcing the nervous expression off his face.

“Probably,” Harry mumbles, motioning for Zayn to follow him. “Lou? Is everything alright in there?”

“It’s fine, nothing that can’t be fixed,” Louis says, his back turned to Harry and Zayn. “Liam’s at the store, he had to do a quick spice run since apparently we’re all out. It’s like he wants to sabotage Niall’s birthday.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Harry defends. “Do you want something to drink?” He directs the second part to Zayn, who nods.

“Whatever you have,” he says in response, folding his arms in front of himself.

“We have everything,” Louis sighs, setting a spoon down on the counter. “There, all fixed. Everything is as good as new. You won’t even notice.”

“Did you peel it off?” Harry asks, grabbing wine glasses out of the cabinets. Louis laughs and Harry grins at him, snatching the bottle of wine away from Louis, sticking his tongue out. “Oh. Shit. Louis, this is Zayn. Zayn, this is Louis.”

“Zayn, it’s lovely to meet you,” Louis mumbles, frowning as he looks at Zayn, head tilted to the side. “Zayn. Is that like, you know, before Malik?”

“Guilty, yeah,” Zayn admits, shrugging, taking the glass from Harry.

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Louis says, smiling. Or well, it’s kind of a smile. It’s a little more questioning, like, there are a million different things that he wants to ask, but he’s not going to, and Harry appreciates it. Louis is unpredictable, but Harry is grateful for moments like this, the ones where he knows to keep himself under control.

A knock on the door interrupts Zayn’s reply and Louis smiles at them both before he excuses himself to answer it.

“That’ll be Niall,” Harry says, releasing a deep breath, because he knows that it’s coming. It’ll be here in three, two, one…

“Birthday boy is here, but Louis tells me that Harry is the one with a date tonight” Niall sings as he waltzes into the room. He smiles at Zayn and Harry before his smile drops completely and he shouts, “Oh, fuck. Oh, my god. Fuck. Fuck, okay. Wait. Hold on. Fuck.”

Harry sighs as Niall exits the kitchen, shrugging when Zayn glances at him, confused and a little concerned. Harry tried to warn him, but there really isn’t any proper way to warn anyone about Niall when it comes to people that he admires.

Niall stumbles back into the room, hand clamped over his mouth. He pulls it away, grinning madly and says, “You’re really here. I left for a second, thought I’d come back in and Liam would have taken off a mask. But you’re not Liam, are you?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Zayn tells him, looking like he wants to take a step back, but then he’d be backed into the corner, and that’s really not good for anyone in this situation.

“No, you’re not, are you,” Niall mumbles, the stupid grin still on his face.

“Niall, this is Zayn,” Harry tells him, motioning towards the boy standing next to him. “And Zayn, that’s Niall. The birthday boy.”

“I can’t believe this,” Niall breathes out, leaning against the wall. “I absolutely love you. I’ve seen all of your movies. I made Eoghan come and see your latest one with me four times. Holy shit, he’ll piss himself when I tell him.”

“That’d be unfortunate,” Zayn mutters, looking at Harry briefly.

“It’d be fucking hilarious,” Niall corrects, nodding. “Oh, god. Louis, please tell me that you’re making Zayn’s favorite meal. To hell with my birthday.”

“Like I know what his favorite meal is,” Louis scoffs, muttering something that sounds like cursing, something about how ungrateful Niall is for all the hard work that Louis has put into this meal.

“I’ll happily eat anything that you’re cooking,” Zayn says, smiling at Louis. “It smells delicious, by the way. Minus the burnt aroma, of course.”

Niall barks out a laugh and Louis grins at him. Harry breathes a sigh of relief seeing that Zayn can hold his own amongst them.

“Zayn, while we’re waiting, there’s something I want to run by you,” Niall tells him, nodding when Harry tries to convey, with his face of course, for Niall to please not do this right now. But Niall’s giving him this look, one that reads something like _relax, I’ve got this under control_ , and Harry has to take a large gulp of wine, emptying his glass completely.

“What is it?” Zayn asks, looking back and forth between Harry and Niall. “It’s not anything dangerous, I hope.”

“No. No, nothing like that. It’s just like, well, you know,” Niall takes a deep breath and Harry grabs the bottle of wine, pouring more into his glass and Zayn’s. Zayn will probably need some. “We’d make the absolute best of friends.”

“Would we?”

“Oh, god, yes. We’d be the very best of friends. Better than Harry, Liam, and Louis combined, the two of us. I’ve thought about it for ages.”

“He has,” Louis supplies, shrugging when Harry looks at him.

“Exactly. Everyone sees it,” Niall sighs as he says it, like he’s fantasizing about it already in his head. “I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about it before, probably not since we only just met but like, think about it tonight. You’ll see how wonderful I am.”

“Well, I’ll definitely do my best,” Zayn tells him, tipping his glass up towards Niall before he takes a drink and Harry follows his lead.

It’s already proving to be a long night.

“Hey, I’m back. Are the guests- Oh. Hello,” Liam says, stepping into the kitchen, grocery bag in hand. “Ah, there’s the birthday boy. Happy birthday.”

“Finally,” Louis groans, snatching the bag away from Liam. “Took you long enough.”

“Store is six blocks over, love. I wasn’t going to jog,” Liam tells him, sighing. “Oh. Hello,” he says, spotting Zayn finally. “Are you one of Niall’s friends?”

“Of course he is,” Niall cheers, popping his head out of the fridge, beer in hand.

“Actually, our Harry here brought him,” Louis tells him, eyebrow raised, like it’s something to be impressed about. And it is, really. Zayn’s wonderful and he’s beautiful, and Harry knows that anyone would be lucky to be his date to a birthday dinner. But that’s not really why they’re impressed. See, it’s possibly been ages since Harry’s had a date, since he’s been even remotely successful in the love department, unlike those two, but not unlike Niall, which has always made him feel a bit better.

“Oh excellent,” Liam replies, grinning, his eyes crinkled shut. “I’m Liam.”

“I’m Zayn,” he tells him, reaching out to shake Liam’s hand.

“Well, I’m not sure if anyone else here has done it yet, but just in case I’ve missed it, I’m going to have to question you, I’m afraid. Anyone here who shows up with our Harry has to answer some questions,” Liam explains, completely ignoring Harry’s protesting groan.

“Alright, what do you want to know?” Zayn asks, eyes on Harry, smiling.

“Well, I’ve already got your name, so that checks that off the list. Um, do you go to school?”

“No, I don’t,” Zayn drawls, shaking his head. “But I do have a job.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Liam smiles, nodding in approval. “What kind of job?”

“I’m an actor.”

“Really? What kind of acting? That’s a fairly broad field, I’d say.”

“Yeah, it is,” Zayn agrees, nodding. “Um, I mostly do, you know, movies. Films, whatever.”

“Oh, my favorite,” Liam says, still smiling.

“Yeah, it’s an amazing industry, at times,” Zayn tells him, taking a careful sip of his wine. “Is it alright if I use your bathroom?”

“Of course it is,” Niall says, motioning with his hand for Zayn to follow him. “I’ll show you where it is.”

As soon as Zayn is out of earshot, Louis is grabbing Harry by the elbow, dragging him to the far side of the kitchen.

“Ow, that hurts,” Harry tells him, snatching his elbow out of Louis’ grasp. “What was that for?”

“What is Zayn Malik doing with you?”

“He asked to come,” Harry says, shrugging, because it’s the truth.

“But why would Zayn Malik want to be here with you?” Louis asks him, eyes narrowed.

Harry sighs, ready to answer, but Niall comes rushing into the kitchen, eyes wild as he slams into the wall, skidding on the hardwood in his socks.

“Whatever Zayn’s doing here, he’s about to leave.”

“What? Why?” Harry asks, ready to stomp off towards the entrance, block it off and figure out what happened. His friends are embarrassing, and a bit much, but if one of them did something truly offensive, enough to make Zayn want to leave, then he wants to know. He’s about as threatening as a baby, but he’ll tell them off all the same.

“I walked into the bathroom with him,” Niall admits, biting his lip. “I didn’t mean to. I was reminding him of what he’s supposed to be thinking about tonight, like, how we’re supposed to be best friends, and then the next thing I knew I’m locking the door and just kind of looking at him. I bet he thought I was hoping he’d take his cock out, let me have a good look at it or something.”

“Oh, god,” Harry groans, taking another large gulp of wine, hoping it has magical powers to make this a little better. He needs it to be a little better. His best friend followed Zayn into the bathroom; it really doesn’t get much worse than that, hopefully.

“Have you seen his cock?” Louis asks, looking thoughtful.

“I am not going to tell you that,” Harry says, glaring at him.

“So you have.”

Harry stomps his foot on the ground, hardening his gaze. “I said I wouldn’t tell you, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why is everyone freaking out?” Liam asks, frowning at all of them in confusion. “Did I miss something before I came home? Is he not really in movies? Is that guy, that Zayn, is he, you know, like a porn star?”

“Oh, fuck, wouldn't that be nice,” Niall comments.

“No, he’s not a porn star. That’s Zayn Malik,” Louis tells him.

“Zayn Malik,” Liam repeats, like he’s tasting the name, trying to figure out why it sounds familiar. Realization must dawn on him, because he’s grabbing at his hair, eyes opened wide. “Oh, fuck. That’s Zayn Malik? Like, the one from that… Oh shit, that action movie. The, um. The one Louis and Niall watched everyday for like, three weeks?”

“That’s the one.”

“Did everyone know who he was?” They all nod and Liam sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Wait. What’s he doing here with Harry?”

“Oh, god,” Louis groans, rubbing at his face. “Liam, babe. I love you, but please try and catch up or just keep your pretty mouth shut. We’re trying to figure that out.”

“Alright, listen,” Harry whispers, because he can hear the toilet flushing and the bathroom sink starting. “I met him the other day, he came into my work. We talked for a bit, then I kind of, just kept bumping into him. I asked if he had plans, he said yes, but then those changed and he asked if he could come here with me instead. So that’s what we’re doing here, now can you all just act normal, for once in your lives?”

They all sigh and nod, except Niall, he says, “Can you tell him that I wasn’t trying to see his cock?” That I walked in there on accident? I don’t want him to hate me.” He bites his lip and this time it’s Harry’s turn to sigh, and to take another sip of wine. Definitely more wine.

\/\/\/\/\/

Despite how things started off, dinner managed to go over smoothly. Harry’s not sure how it happened, but he’s grateful for it, the way that his friends effortlessly treat Zayn like he was an old friend and not a world famous actor. It feels almost familiar, like Zayn’s been coming to their dinners for ages. And Harry almost forgets, _just almost_ that Zayn isn’t an established member of their little clan.

“Alright, it’s come down to it. We’ve reached the last brownie,” Louis announces, holding up the plate and showing it off, allowing everyone at the table to see it for themselves.

“What does that mean?” Zayn asks, glancing around in confusion, because everyone else is smiling, and Harry shifts his arm so it’s draped behind the back of Zayn’s chair, patting his shoulder sympathetically. This really is the best part of the evening.

“It means that we can now begin fighting for the brownie,” Louis informs him, setting the plate down on the table with a clatter.

“How are we going to do it this week?” Niall asks, his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and he’s grinning. He can’t stop smiling or laughing, he’s euphoric, living on a cloud because of it being his birthday.

Louis rubs his hands together, like an evil genius that’s just come up with a plan. “Well, having Zayn here is a standing reminder of how pathetic our lives really are.”

“Not like we didn’t already know that,” Niall snorts around the rim of his beer.

“Exactly, so in honor of our sorry lives, we’re going to fight over this brownie.”

“The brownie is our prize?” Liam asks, leaning back in his seat.

“A lame prize for a lame existence, it only seems fair,” Louis says, fingers tapping against the table.

“So we’re talking about Liam, then?” Harry asks, fingers brushing against Zayn’s shoulder blade.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Obviously it’s me,” he mutters, sitting up a little straighter. “I mean, why wouldn’t it be? I’m the only volunteer fireman with a degree in fire science that hasn’t been hired as an actual employee. I’m losing muscle definition, which is making me look pudgy around the edges. And worst of all, I was confused for straight the other day.”

“Well, that’s not as unfortunate as actually being straight, is it, Niall?” Louis says, turning to look at the blond sympathetically.

Harry glances over towards Zayn, smiling when he sees that the other boy is watching the whole thing with a grin on his face, eyes crinkled around the edges.

“No, it’s really not,” Niall tells them before he takes a drink of his beer, sighing when he pulls the bottle away from his lips. “I haven’t gotten laid in a month. And that’s not without trying; I can’t so much as a get a woman to blink in my direction. And I’ve been getting less hours at the record store, so I’m just barely making rent this month.”

Louis reaches over and places a hand on Niall’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “See, he really does live a pathetic life.”

“On the other hand, his best friend is Zayn Malik,” Liam interjects, still fighting for his shot at the brownie.

Niall shrugs. “Well, that’s true. I won’t argue with that one,” he says, forcing a laugh out of Zayn. Harry feels the vibration of it against his palm; it sends a shiver down his spine.

“And Niall has nearly completed his degree,” Louis starts, sighing. “I’m still stuck in what’s equivalent to my third semester, even though I’ve been going for years, slaving away to get a petty education degree of all things. And I’ve had to give up smoking, because I’m dating a future fireman who refuses to accept me for who I am.” Louis pauses to glare at Liam, who rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. “But the thing is, Liam and I were rejected for the house we wanted. Apparently the seller wasn’t comfortable with our kind, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

Harry looks to Niall first before he glances over towards Liam and Louis, the pair now holding hands on top of the table, smiling fondly at each other.

“Louis, I’m so sorry,” Harry says, because he’s been listening to Louis talk for months about how he and Liam were trying to find a home they could own instead of a place to rent. And they’d both been over the moon when they found and fell in love with the tiniest little place on the opposite side of town.

Louis shrugs. “I’m sure that’s worth the brownie, right?”

“I don’t think so, love,” Liam says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Your life is nowhere near as tragic as Harry’s.”

“Hey,” Harry protests, removing his hand from the back of Zayn’s chair, pointing at Liam, warning him.

“Oh, well, that’s true,” Louis agrees, nodding. “Look at him. He’s single. He works with animals, cleaning up their waste all day. And you used to be rather handsome, Harry, but lately I think your hairline is receding a bit.” Harry frowns, rubbing at his forehead, because Louis shouldn’t be one to talk. “And you’re more than likely never going to hear from Zayn again after tonight.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Harry says, nodding his head as he licks his lips. His friends really are an awful bunch of people. “Does this mean that I get the last brownie, at least?”

“I think it does,” Niall tells him, grabbing the plate, ready to pass it over towards Harry.

“Wait, what about me?” Zayn asks, first looking at Harry before he glances at the rest of them.

Niall sets the tray back down, resting his chin in his hand as he looks at Zayn. “You think your life is worse than Harry’s?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn shrugs. “I deserve a chance, at least.”

“You’ll have to really try,” Harry tells him. “I’m ready to fight you for this. My life really is sad. We’ve barely scratched the surface of it all. I could tell you some horrific things.”

Zayn licks his lips right before his bites down on the plump of his bottom lip, thinking. “Okay. Well. I can’t go on the Internet without being blamed for the crimes of other people. I haven’t seen my family in nearly a year because my manager keeps me so busy that sometimes I forget where it is I am or what I’m doing there. And there hasn’t been a review or an article about me that doesn’t praise my work but bash my person or my religion or my relationship, so while I’m talented, I’m also relatively worthless to complete strangers, because they’re too ignorant to see beyond anything else.”

Zayn finishes off with a sigh and Harry looks at him, biting on his bottom lip. He knows the articles that Zayn is talking about, he’s never read them himself but Niall has and he always shouts abuse at his laptop or at the printed-paper of a magazine. Harry realizes that Zayn’s life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and that it’s not the glitz and glam that they try to show you on TV, because sometimes they forget that the people in movies are actually people.

Finally the silence is broken when Louis snorts, picking up the brownie and passing it to Harry. “Nice try, handsome, but that was hardly an effort.”

They break out in a laugh, including Zayn, whose eyes are almost closed, his hand pressed to his chest as he lets it out.

“Did you even try?” Harry asks, taking the last brownie, looking at Zayn as he sinks his teeth into it, showing off that he’s the real winner tonight. Zayn reaches over and pushes at his shoulder and Harry nearly drops the brownie, but he doesn’t mind, because Zayn is looking at him and he’s happy, he’s happy and surrounded by Harry’s friends. Something about that spreads a warmth throughout Harry’s gut.

\/\/\/\/\/

“Your friends are great,” Zayn tells him as they walk down the street. They’re just barely passed Louis and Liam’s place, walking side by side through the city. It’s late at night, not too late where you might begin to worry but just late enough that there aren’t many people out, making Zayn’s chances of getting spotted less likely.

“Yeah, they are. I’m glad you liked them,” Harry admits because he was worried before, even after he drank enough wine to take the edge off.

“What’s Liam and Louis’ story? They seem really in love,” Zayn mumbles, looking at Harry as he walks. “Or am I not allowed to ask that question? You can tell me if it’s none of my business.”

Harry shakes his head, waving him off. It’s better that Harry tells it. “After I finished school, I took a year off. I um, didn’t think I was ready for university, so I wanted to travel the world. Only, travelling the world meant staying at home and working with my dad in his office.”

“And what does this have to do with them?”

“Everything, really. Louis had started school at the time. He had also taken a year off, so we would have started together except I kind of backed out of the plan, as I said.”

“Did he meet Liam while he was at school?”

“I met Liam while he was at school. Niall brought him around once, I’m not really sure how they knew each other, but Louis and I were friends with Niall and so was Liam, so he made the decision to have us meet,” Harry explains, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, we hit it off really well, Liam and I, and eventually we started dating.”

Zayn stops, turning fully to look at Harry properly, shock written on his face. “Liam used to be your boyfriend?”

Harry nods, shrugging when Zayn’s mouth drops open a little more.

“So then what happened?”

“We were together from October to the middle of July. Louis completed his school year, came home for summer and during that time he and Liam hit it off. It was like, an instant attraction or something. There we a few rocky moments, but for the most part, the chemistry between them was undeniable.” Harry steps closer to Zayn so they’re not standing in the middle of the walkway, even if there is no one out this late. “By the middle of July, I started to feel like Liam’s mistress.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Harry shakes his head. “So how did you break up?” Zayn asks, leaning against the fence that they’re standing next to, looking at Harry patiently with nothing but interest written across his face, like he actually cares about this.

“I told him that he was in love with Louis. He denied it. I repeated it. He admitted it. And then, in the middle of August, right before Liam’s birthday, they told everyone about their new relationship,” Harry says, remembering the day perfectly. He was happy for them, he really was, but he remembers drinking himself stupid for almost a week, until Niall of all people told him to get his shit together, and he did. “And then one year off school became two. Louis skipped that year. But this year Liam talked us back into going, or in my case actually applying.”

Zayn nods, smiling at him gently. It doesn’t look like he pities Harry, but more like he’s sympathizing with him, and Harry’s grateful for that. He’s not bitter about Louis and Liam, because it’s like Zayn said, they’re deeply in love with each other. Harry thinks if any relationship is the real deal, it’s theirs.

“You’re a good person, Harry Styles,” Zayn tells him, pushing off the fence and walking away.

Harry takes a moment to take a deep breath, because Zayn is overwhelming. Not just him, but him complimenting Harry. Him complimenting Harry when he’s told him another story that could have gotten Harry the brownie at dinner.

They don’t talk much after that. Zayn seems to be thinking and Harry doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask about what Zayn said at dinner, not because he wants to poke at Zayn’s weakness, but because he wants to get to know him. He wants to understand Zayn, wants to scratch away at the surface of him and figure out his inner workings. Maybe not all of them, but some of them, enough of them that Zayn doesn’t feel like a stranger to him anymore. He doesn’t ask, though, because it’s none of his business and if Zayn wants to tell him those details, then he will.

Zayn stops their walk suddenly, glancing around cautiously before he turns to look at Harry with a devious smile on his face.

“What?” Harry asks, glancing around, trying to see if he missed something.

“We’re sneaking in here,” Zayn says, pointing towards his right. It’s a public pool, one that’s most definitely closed in the middle of the night. One that could get them arrested for trespassing.

“Are you insane?” Harry blurts out, because Zayn might have enough money to post bail, but Harry doesn’t. He doesn’t even have enough money for a decent enough lawyer to convince the courts that he tripped over the fence and wasn’t sure how to get out of the pool. “What are you going to say when the cops show up?”

Zayn grins at him over his shoulder, already scaling the fence. Harry feels sick. He’s definitely feeling the wine, like it wasn’t to make another appearance. “I’m going to tell him the white boy forced me over it, was planning my demise if I didn’t give him five million.”

“Oh wow. Great. Yes, please blame me,” Harry mutters, folding his arms over his chest defiantly. He’s not hopping the fence. He’s really not. Even if Zayn has safely landed and is grinning at him through the bars, face pressed against them. “I’m not doing it. I’m not.”

“No one is going to catch us unless you keep acting like a baby,” Zayn says.

“I’m not going to get arrested.”

“If we get caught, they’ll call the owners. First I’ll try bribing them and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll buy the place. For twice it’s worth. Then it’ll be our pool and no one can arrest us for swimming in it,” Zayn explains and Harry bites his lip. It would probably work out, all Zayn would have to do is bat his ridiculously long eyelashes while Harry probably cried in the background. “Please?”

Harry sighs, stomping his foot on the ground like a toddler. “Fine, but you better catch me,” he grumbles, putting his foot on the horizontal bar then his other foot on the higher one. He hangs there for a second before he uses his upper body strength to tug himself up and over. Zayn catches him like Harry told him to, gripping on Harry’s waist as he steadies him, smiling at him.

“Do you always abide by the rules, Harry?”

“Me?” Harry says, pointing towards him. “No. I do whatever I want.”

“Except break into pools.”

“My mother would have a stroke if I called her and asked for bail money,” Harry whines, pouting when Zayn laughs at him. “If we get arrested I’m blaming you.”

“Are you?” Zayn asks, slinging an arm around Harry’s waist as he guides him towards the pool. “What are you going to tell them?”

“I’m going to say, ‘officer, the half-white boy forced me over it. He was planning my demise if I didn’t pay him five million,’” Harry says, watching as Zayn laughs, head pressed into Harry’s shoulder.

“Stealing my plan, are you?”

“Well, it seemed like it was going to work for you,” Harry says, watching as Zayn pulls off his shoes and then his socks. “Are you really getting in?”

Zayn just smiles at him, grabbing the hem of his jeans and rolling one pant leg up to the knee before he does the same with the other side.

Right, definitely not swimming, Harry thinks, watching as Zayn sits at the edge of the pool, feet submerged in the water. Harry copies his actions and then sits down beside him, sighing.

“This is nice,” Zayn mumbles, head thrown back as he breathes in the night air, eyes closed.

“I didn’t peg you to be a sneak into a pool type.”

“I’m not,” Zayn admits, opening his eyes to look at Harry. “I’m actually afraid of water, so I avoid it. Pools, lakes, the ocean.”

Harry looks at him, thoughtful. “This is an odd place to be then.”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, but it could be used for better things, not just swimming.”

“Like what?”

Zayn smiles with one side of his mouth for briefest of seconds before he ducks forward and kisses Harry. His lips open almost immediately, like he’s trying to pick up where they left off the last time Zayn kissed him. Zayn slides his hand across Harry’s cheek, wrapping it around the base of his neck as he licks his way into Harry’s mouth, his facial hair tickling Harry’s skin.

It’s a bit uncomfortable, Harry’s abdomen contorting to compensate for the fact that his feet are still in the pool, but their hands are doing everything they can to pull their bodies closer. Zayn’s grip is roaming, going from clutching his hair to his shirt, gripping at his ribs and then his hips, thumbs brushing underneath Harry’s shirt. It’s like he’s trying to get a feel for everything Harry, trying to memorize the way Harry’s body reacts to the kiss, every muscle twitch and flip in Harry’s stomach.

As Zayn bites down on his bottom lip, tugging at Harry’s hair to make his mouth fall open a little bit more, Harry thinks that he’s willing to risk getting arrested if it means that he can keep forcing the breathy little whining sound that’s escaping the back of Zayn’s throat. He’s doing it with just his tongue, and he has to actively force himself not to think about the other sounds that Zayn can make.

Harry is willing to risk getting arrested if it means being this close to Zayn.

\/\/\/\/\/

As Harry walks into class, his professor passes him a packet of paper with an unimpressed look on her face, like even she is annoyed with having to be at class by nine. Harry tries to smile at her anyway, hoping it’ll make her morning a little better. It doesn’t seem to have worked, because she’s still scowling at students as Harry takes his seat.

Harry’s examining the packet and praying that they’re not actually going to be covering any of this in class because it’s so much information; it’s far too much for anyone to actually be forced to study. It was a nice thought, on his teacher’s part, though, giving out an informative packet to her students. She should be proud that she cares enough about her students to want them to learn more about the Hundred Year’s War.

Harry, however, really doesn’t want to memorize all this information. He sighs as he sets the packet down, knowing that he’s going to. He should have never thought that French history before the French Revolution would be a fun elective.

“Do I want to even open this?” Louis asks, sliding into the seat next to Harry. “Before you answer that, I haven’t had a cup of tea and I was awake all night with Liam studying for my sociology exam. Now, with that in mind, do I even want to open this?”

“No,” Harry answers promptly, shaking his head. “You should hide it inside of your folder and forget about it until tomorrow.”

“Excellent answer.” Louis grins at him despite the dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted and Harry only feels slightly bad for getting a full night’s sleep, minus the bit where he woke up for a glass of water, but that hardly counts as disturbed slumber. “So now that we’ve discussed what I’ve done all weekend, let’s talk about your weekend. Shall we?”

Harry pretends to think about it for a moment before he shakes his head, lips pursed together to show that he’s not going to talk.

“Harry, I don’t know whom you think that face is going to work on, but it’s not me,” Louis informs him, grinning wickedly at Harry while he blindly opens his folder and pulls out a clean sheet of paper, for when he needs to take notes in a few minutes. “Now, as for your weekend, I don’t care about the bits where you watched television with Nicholas in his underwear. I do, however, care an awful lot about the bits that you spent with a certain Mr. Zayn Malik.”

“Shh,” Harry hisses, glancing around to make sure no one else heard Louis. The classroom is beginning to fill up quickly, students stumbling in, their expression dropping immediately when they’re handed the packet. The thing is, Harry doesn’t even know if anyone else is aware that Zayn’s in town and that he’s staying in a hotel not far away. And even if they are aware, Harry doesn’t want anyone to know that he knows where to find Zayn and that he’s been in contact with him, because that’s not fair to Zayn. Harry would never want to jeopardize Zayn’s safety to appeal to his peers. Never. “We can talk about it, but not so loud.”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

Harry sighs. “It’s okay.”

“So what did you and Zayn end up doing after you left dinner? I wanted to call you, but Liam and I thought maybe Zayn might have spent the night, we didn’t want to kill the mood,” Louis says, waggling his eyebrows at Harry suggestively. “Did he spend the night? Please tell me that he spent the night.”

“Even if he did I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Are you saying that because he did? Or are you saying that because he really didn't?”

“He really didn’t,” Harry mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I thought about asking, like, because obviously I was interested, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Like it was pretty cool that he was even willing to come to dinner, so asking him to come home with me afterwards felt like I’d be pushing him.”

Louis nods, pen tapping against the table. “That’s a fair point. No one likes to be forced into things, so it’s good that you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, nodding with Louis. It’s just enough to be in Zayn’s company, to know that he wants to be around Harry like Harry wants to be around him. Plus- “I’m not even sure if he’d be interested in, you know, me.”

Louis snorts and rolls his eyes, reaching over to pat Harry sympathetically on the shoulder, like Harry’s a small child. “Trust me, he’s interested.”

“How would you even know that? You hardly know him.”

“He came to Niall’s birthday dinner, and _he_ hardly knows _you,_ ” Louis says, nodding like he’s just figured out the answer to all of life’s problems, like he’s smarter than he actually is. “It’s just obvious. Zayn doesn’t seem like the type to bullshit around with things that he doesn’t actually like. He seems like the type to devote time and energy into things that he likes or things that he thinks he could, if he spent more time with it.”

Harry looks at Louis thoughtfully for a moment, because it makes sense. Zayn does seem like the type to know what he wants and he doesn’t seem like the type to waste his time with things, not like Harry. Harry is the type to indulge people and activities, because even if he thinks that he doesn’t like it, he wants to give it a shot. Harry wants to know that everything he doesn’t like is for a good, justified reason. Whether it’s a person or an activity or an inanimate object, Harry will give anything a chance. But that doesn’t sound like Zayn. Zayn’s protective of himself and he wouldn’t ever let his guard down for someone or something that he doesn’t think is worth it.

Harry’s stomach twists pleasantly at the thought and he can’t help but smile, a stupidly big grin on his face as his professor announces the start of class and for everyone to quiet down.

“When are you seeing him again?” Louis whispers under his breath, sparing a quick glance in Harry’s direction before he focuses on the teacher.

“Tonight. We’re having dinner.”

\/\/\/\/\/

The restaurant that Zayn takes Harry to later in the evening is posh, to say the very least, so posh that Harry’s pretty sure there is a two month waiting list just to get inside. Unless you’re Zayn Malik, then you nod at the host and get a table in the far back, secluded enough that they’re given privacy, but also not enough so that a waiter could potentially forget about them.

Harry’s pretty sure that if he listens closely enough he can hear his wallet crying in his pocket. And if he listens even harder than that, he can hear his bank account screaming at him to just go home, to convince Zayn that McDonald’s and cheesy reality television is just the kind of night that they deserve. But Harry’s not going to try and listen to that, because Zayn positively glows in this place.

Tonight he’s wearing black jeans with a simple black top, a dark grey cardigan over it. Zayn’s hair is parted in the center, long and shaggy as it frames his face, curling _just so_ at the ends. He looks marvelous, the dimmed lighting of the restaurant bringing out the sharp contours of his bone structure. Harry feels inferior, but not in a way that makes him want to shy away and hide, but in a way that makes him want to puff out his chest in pride, because he’s here. He’s witnessing Zayn in all his beautiful glory and Harry is his chosen company, which in the grand scheme of things, is pretty amazing.

Harry’s glad that he decided to button up his shirt to the fourth button instead of the third from the bottom. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place to be exposed, even if his cream colored top is see through.

“What is it that you’re studying in school, Harry?” Zayn asks, fingers tapping idly on the table, the other hand clutching onto his wine glass. “I know that you know my career, but outside of the pet store I’m not sure what it is you do.”

Ah, so it appears that Zayn is starting off with the hard questions. Right. Harry can handle that; it’s easy enough, even if it makes him want to cry when anyone else asks. “I have no idea,” Harry answers honestly, grinning, because if he smiles then that shows conviction. “I think I want to major in business, possibly. I don’t know. Every time I’m close to settling down with a major, another major sounds really appealing, so I haven’t really decided yet.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I know that. It’s just like, my mom calls me all the time to see if I’ve figured it out,” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp. “I know it’s because she worries about me, but it’s usually only successful in making me feel like a failure.”

“I obviously didn’t go to school, so I can’t identify with that exactly, but I have a job. And I kind of have my shit together, a little bit, but that still doesn't stop my father from asking when I’m going to get a real job.”

Harry laughs, this horrible sound that originates in his nose and sounds like an awful sort of snort. His cheeks flame up, clapping a hand over his mouth but Zayn’s grinning at him, eyes shining happily.

“What was that?”

“I’ve never heard that sound before in my life,” Harry lies, eyes still wide and cheeks still red. He can’t believe that he did that, embarrass himself at dinner. “But um, your dad. We were talking about him, why does he want you to get a real job? Acting is an amazing job.”

“It is,” Zayn agrees, nodding. He pauses, taking a sip of wine before he continues. “My dad doesn’t like how invasive it can be. People are always feeling like they’re entitled to my life, not even just little details, but the whole thing. Like because they take interest in my career that means I owe them something back, that something being myself. He’s never liked that. Neither have I, but I’m better at ignoring it than he is. It really infuriates him when he sees some of the things people write about me or say about me.”

“Sometimes people forget that you’re an actual person, it’s hard when the life you live is so separated from the people you see on television, in movies, or performing at concerts.” Harry says, and he has no idea what he’s talking about, because he’s never lived the life that Zayn is explaining to him. The most invasive people in his life are his mom and Louis, but that’s because they care, not because they feel like they own chunks of Harry or like by supporting him and loving him that he owes them something in return.

“Famous is a really bad word to associate with a person, because it robs them of their own identity, strips it all away until they’re nothing more than famous. And then it taints anything you want to do for the rest of your life, because people want to constantly see you try and compete with whatever degree of fame you currently have or used to have. So I can see why your dad doesn’t like it, if I’m being honest, but it’s because of that word famous that people feel this way about your life,” Harry says and he feels guilty because he’s used it about Zayn, but he also doesn’t feel like Zayn has ever owed him anything. Even now that they’ve gotten to know each other, Zayn could walk away at any moment and Harry—well, no. He’d be lying if he said that he wouldn’t want to know why or that he wouldn’t be devastated, because he would, but he’d get over it, with time. “I don’t know. Sorry. I kind of ranted there for a moment.”

When he looks up, Zayn’s staring at him and there’s something intense about his gaze, like he’s looking through Harry, right inside of him and he’s trying to figure him out. Or maybe it’s not as much calculating as it is fascinated. Harry’s not sure, but the intensity of it makes his skin prickle in heat, his cheeks burning red again.

Zayn’s expression changes, though, because his attention is shifted to the conversation-taking place at the table behind them where a group of people is sat. It appears to be a double date, two married couples and they’re talking about Zayn.

“Probably the worst film that I’ve ever seen in my life,” one of them says, flipping through the menu. “Honestly, I don’t know who keeps casting that Malik, but he’s awful.”

“I think he’s great,” the woman sitting next to him says and Harry nods, because he is great. Zayn is amazing.

“He’s stiff as a board, you couldn’t get him to show emotion if you tried.”

Across from Harry, Zayn smiles as big as he can before he lets it drop into a rather convincing frown. Harry laughs behind his hand, not wanting to snort out another horrific sound.

“No one is going to see his films because of his acting,” a third pipes in, rolling her eyes. “They hire him because he’s nice to look at. Ladies line up around the block just to get a peek at him, men too.”

“I heard that he’s into men, do you think it’s true?”

Zayn shakes his head no, but he’s winking at Harry, letting him know that he doesn’t mean it. Harry’s blush comes back once again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fucking around with men,” the first guy says, Harry kind of wants to hit him, right in his ugly little mouth.

The other man, the one who’s been silent this whole time adds, “My question is, how were they able to get him out of rehab long enough to film a movie? I didn’t think you were allowed out.”

“He wasn’t in rehab.”

The man snorts and Harry wants to hit him in his mouth too. “A guy like him? He’s been in rehab, it was written in all the magazines not that long ago, read one of them on the toilet once.”

“What did he go to rehab for?”

“Drugs, what else? Don’t you remember that video that came out of him in the back of some van?”

“No, it wasn’t drugs. I’m pretty sure it was like Tiger Woods, got caught sleeping with one-too-many people and pled sex addict, did a stint in rehab and came out of it still trying to fuck anyone that walks.”

Zayn doesn’t look as entertained with the conversation-taking place behind them, mostly angry and annoyed. Harry would guess that he’s also hurt, because no one is immune to things like that. And it makes Harry’s blood boil, his skin heating up in anger this time and it’s really on impulse that he stands up quickly, stomping over towards the table with the couples, a heavy scowl on his face.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to intrude on what is obviously a stellar night for a bunch of oh-so-lovely people such as yourselves, but I really couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and I’ll have you know that Zayn Malik is an incredible person and nothing you said about him was true,” Harry spits out, hands balled up into fists at his sides. He really wants to hit this man now that he’s up close. And then when he does it, he’ll hit the other man. He won’t hit the ladies, but he’ll hit their husbands and make them watch. “You shouldn’t talk about people that you don’t know, it’s not nice. And how would you feel if someone was talking about you like that? You wouldn’t. So… So why don’t you stop being jerks and enjoy your overpriced chicken.”

The four of them look at each other for a moment and Harry wishes that he were better at this. He wishes that he were Louis in this moment, or more like Louis. He’d make them cower in their seats, tails between their legs, as they apologized profusely for being such horrible people. But as it stands, Harry is not Louis, which is why the people sitting before him do nothing but laugh at him, like Harry told a really funny joke.

“I’m sorry-“

“You should be.”

“But who are you?” The man that started this all asks, he’s sizing Harry up. “Are you his father?”

“No, actually,” Zayn says, sliding up behind Harry. “He’s my personal assistant, sorry about him.”

“Holy shit.”

“You’re Zayn Malik.”

“Right, yeah. Guilty,” Zayn says, arm slipping around Harry’s waist, holding onto him tightly. “Anyway, it’s the strangest thing, when he gets drunk it’s almost like he can sense people that have really sad lives, you know the ones that have nothing better to do besides go out to dinner and talk about someone they know nothing about. He can always find those people, no matter where we go. It’s amazing.”

“That’s not—we were just—“

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Zayn assures, waving them off with a smile on his face. “Like I was saying, I apologize for my assistant, he can get a bit sensitive when it comes to people being proper assholes, but I’m sure you guys know all about that, being them yourselves. Have an amazing meal.”

Harry stares in awe as Zayn smiles at them one last time before turning Harry around, tossing more money than necessary down on their table, and then leading them outside. Harry feels horrible. He shouldn’t have done that. He really, really should not have done that. Zayn’s jaw is clenched, his muscles tense on Harry’s back. He doesn’t look happy and it’s all Harry’s fault.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says when they’re finally outside. He pulls out of Zayn’s grasp so he can face him properly, so he can flee without Zayn stopping him if Zayn is truly angry about it. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did that. No, that’s a lie. They were out of line.”

Zayn sighs and Harry can see that he’s physically trying to relax his body for Harry. “No, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s really not. I’m so sorry,” Harry mutters again, running a shaky hand through his hair. It’s probably for the best that Harry is like Harry and not like Louis, because Louis would have made things worse.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, stepping forward cautiously, like he’s afraid that he’ll scare Harry off. He might. Harry’s flight or fight instincts are kicking in and fight didn’t work, so…

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of. I’m just so—god, how could they have done that? They were so mean and cruel about you. They don’t even know you.”

Zayn shrugs and it looks like he really doesn’t know, like he truly doesn’t get it either. But he also doesn’t look as bothered as he should be, not like Harry is. “It comes with the job. People talk, you just have to learn how to ignore them.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry mumbles and he feels angry all over again. Zayn shouldn’t have to get used to this, no one should. “It’s not right. They were jerks. I wanted to hit them, the men, anyway. I wanted to smack him.”

Zayn laughs, taking another step forward so that he’s closer to Harry. He reaches up and rests his hands on Harry’s cheeks, playfully pouting at him when Harry scowls. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy,” Zayn tells him, right before he leans in and kisses him.

Harry sighs, unclenching his fists and allowing his muscles to relax. He melts into the kiss, melts into Zayn and nearly forgets about what happened inside the restaurant. But he’s not going to forget it completely, not ever, because Zayn deserves better than that, better than a bunch of inconsiderate pricks in a restaurant.

\/\/\/\/\/

Zayn stops when they’re a few blocks from his hotel, gripping onto Harry’s elbow and guiding him out of the flow of sidewalk traffic. He steps back into the shadows of the building behind him, pulling Harry in with him so they’re partially hidden, so that Zayn won’t be instantly spotted.

“I guess this is the part where we say good night,” Harry says, pressing his palms flat against Zayn’s hips, sliding them towards his back and holding on. “Despite what happened at dinner, I had fun. I don’t want you to go back to your hotel room and think that tonight was ruined, because it wasn’t.”

“I was hoping that you’d want to go up to my hotel room with me,” Zayn admits, biting down on the plump of his bottom lip.

And _oh_. Okay. That was not expected. Not even a little bit. “Yeah, sure.” Harry nods, trying to sound casual, like his insides aren’t twisting and turning in excitement. . “You mean me, right?”

Zayn laughs, fingers curling around Harry’s wrists. “Yeah, you,” he says and Harry smiles at him because that’s. Wow. “You have to wait though, maybe five minutes so we’re not seen going up together.”

“Oh yeah. Right, of course. I’ll just wait here then.”

“Sorry, it’s just that if not it’ll be all over the Internet in less than a minute, with articles coming up in under five.”

“Zayn, no. I get it, that’s fine,” Harry assures him, squeezing his hips once before he lets go, stepping back so that he’s no longer trapping Zayn between his body and the wall. “You’re still in 3014?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, slipping out of the concealment of the shadows. “See you in five minutes.”

Harry watches him walk away and resists the urge to throw a fist up in the air or scream out in excitement, because it’s almost like Louis is right, that Zayn might be interested in him. And the kissing, while nice, doesn’t always mean anything, but it’s been amazing. Harry hopes that he’ll be able to act out his dream idea from the last time he was in Zayn’s hotel room. The one where they make excellent and productive use of Zayn’s bed wearing minimal clothing, or none, he’s not picky.

Eventually the five minutes passes - all of it spent thinking about what’s going to happen in Zayn’s hotel room – and Harry finds himself in the smooth jazz atmosphere of the elevator. There’s an older woman inside of it with him, purse clutched tightly in her hands like she’s worried that Harry might try to snatch it from her. Harry doesn’t even care about trying to assure her that he’s a decent person, he just wants to get to Zayn’s floor.

“Have a lovely evening,” Harry says, smiling sweetly at the older woman before he exits the elevator, trying not to run down the hall.

Harry knocks, knuckles scraping against the door and Harry feels an ounce more of nerves surge through his veins. He’s giddy, both with excitement and nervous energy, but mostly excitement.

Zayn pulls the door open quickly, if you can really call it open. There’s not enough room for Harry to slip inside, just enough for part of Zayn’s body to be seen, the rest of the room hidden. “I’m so sorry but you can’t come in here.”

“What?” Harry says, frowning. “I don’t understand. Should I go back downstairs and wait?” Harry gets the quickest glimpse at glowing white skin and shining blonde hair before Zayn pulls the door shut even more, blocking Harry’s view completely.

“Zayn, who is that?” The female voice says again and-

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels like an idiot, a giant, massive idiot. “Yeah. I um. I should get going. Thanks for dinner.” He smiles and hopes that it’s not as sad as Harry feels on the inside. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest and an odd sensation behind his eyes. He’s not going to cry. He’s not. Harry really isn’t going to cry, he just wishes that Zayn hadn’t led him on like this, because if Zayn had someone waiting for him in his room, then he should have said something.

Harry didn’t want to find out like this.

“Good night, Zayn.”

“Harry-“

Harry holds up a hand, waving Zayn off. “It’s okay, have a good night,” he stays, smiling once more before he turns and heads back to the elevator.

This was definitely not his dream, not even a little bit. Harry hadn’t anticipated this, he should have, but he didn’t. Instead he spent five minutes outside daydreaming about possible scenarios and not one of them dealt with rejection. They should have. Harry should have known better.

Harry steps inside of the elevator, pressing the lobby button and then leans his head against the wall of the elevator, wishing that it would consume him, swallow him up and he wouldn’t have to feel the sinking feeling in his stomach.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry takes his time walking home after leaving Zayn’s hotel. He wanders through the city and tries his best to process his emotions, not very successfully, though.

He doesn’t understand what’s happened.

There’s a lump in his throat and it feels like he can’t breathe, like the emotion is fighting its way out of him. Harry doesn’t want to cry on the street. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to cry. Are you allowed to cry over someone you’ve only been out with a few times, known for a short while, and kissed enough that Harry can count it on one hand? Is that allowed? Harry’s not sure.

Getting home, Harry sheds off his clothing and drops down on his bed face first, breathing in the scent of himself on his pillow. It does nothing to calm him because he’s not looking to be comforted by himself; he’s looking to be comforted by Zayn. But he has nothing of his, except his stained shirt that Harry stupidly washed.

Would it be creepy to hold it close, like a security blanket? Probably, but Harry’s not sure he has any shame left, not anymore.

Harry lifts his head up off the pillow and reaches down on the floor for his jeans. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and crawls back into bed, lying on his back and opening his Internet browser. He’s not sure why he’s doing this, because it feels like torture, but he’s googles the phrase, _Zayn Malik and girlfriend._

It doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for, just long enough for the search engine to load before he learns that her name is Perrie. Perrie Edwards. She’s petite, almost tiny, like Harry could put her in his pocket. Her skin is shockingly pale and her eyes strikingly blue. Her hair is just as light as her skin. She’s nothing like Harry. He’s much taller, gangly almost in comparison. He’s pale, sure, but nowhere near the degree of which Perrie is. And his eyes, they’re green.

Harry takes a moment to wonder what Zayn prefers. Harry’s tall to her short, Harry’s green to her blue. But the moment passes quickly enough because isn’t it already obvious which Zayn prefers?

As Harry goes back to the main search page, clicking away from the photographs, he tries to find a link where he can learn more about her, about her relationship with Zayn.

 _Zayn Malik caught cheating on Perrie Edwards…AGAIN,_ one of them says.

Another reading, _Perrie Edwards opens up about Zayn Malik’s infidelity._

_Zayn Malik caught in bed with another woman!!!_

_Details about Zayn Malik’s Swedish love affair..._

_Hollywood’s dream couple on the rocks, Zayn Malik cheating?_

_Perrie Edwards gives boyfriend one more chance, read to find out more._

Harry clicks that one, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, waiting anxiously for the story to load.

_Zayn Malik has allegedly been caught cheating on girlfriend, Perrie Edwards once again._

_The actor, who was rumored to have slept with several of his co-stars last spring, is at it again. Sources reveal that just last month Zayn was caught in bed with one of Edwards closest friends._

_“She was absolutely devastated,” the source reveals, “It came as such a blow after everything that went on just a few months ago. They’ve been trying to work it out, but she’s not sure what to do at this point.”_

_This isn’t the first time that Zayn has been rumored to have more than friendly relations with one of Perrie’s friends._

_“He slept with one of the girl’s in the band when they first started to get to know each other. She was upset but forgave him.”_

_As for this round, our source informs us that Perrie is willing to do whatever it takes to make their relationship work._

_“She loves him and she’s willing to do whatever she has to do to make sure that they stay together. He mentioned going on a trip, something romantic where they could spend time together and work through this.”_

_So now the question remains, will Perrie forgive Zayn once again, or will she get rid of him like yesterday’s garbage?_

Harry reads the article once and then twice and one more time - apparently he’s a glutton for pain- before he shuts his phone off, stuffing it under his pillow. He rolls over onto his side, feels that ball of emotion form in his throat again. His chest is heavy and tight, knotted up with regret. Harry’s eyes burn from trying to fight back the tears because his time with Zayn had meant something to Harry, something more than just adding a notch to his bedpost.

\/\/\/\/\/

It’s been two weeks since he saw Zayn, since he heard from him. He’s almost positive that he’s no longer in town, probably skipped out for his romantic, therapeutic vacation with his girlfriend.

It’s been two weeks and Harry’s fine. He doesn’t think about it, not much anyway. Not unless Zayn comes on his television or he sees him on a magazine cover or on an advertisement at the bus stop.

So naturally, Harry doesn’t think about it except for everyday, because that’s how often he sees Zayn. It drives him crazy, is the thing. It’s not fair. Zayn should be the one haunted with Harry’s face, not the other way around. Zayn should be forced to see commercials with Harry’s face in them when he’s trying to watch television, he shouldn’t be able to wait for a bus without having to stare at Harry. He’s the one that did it all wrong, not Harry.

Harry didn’t have a girlfriend. Harry didn’t lie. Harry didn’t invite Zayn back to his hotel room only to get caught in his lie with his—with his sidepiece and his girlfriend.

Harry only hopes Perrie is in ignorance of Harry’s existence. He’d hate to be the person that brings pain to someone like that, in the way that she must feel when she caught Zayn cheating all those other times.

Suddenly the memory of Zayn’s kisses leaves a taste of betrayal in Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t like it.

Sighing, Harry drops his pen, because it’s obvious that he’s not going to get any homework done right now. He needs to, desperately, but he can hear Zayn’s voice on the television in the other room and he wants to scream, wants to throw his textbook across the room and pull a proper rock star move and toss the television out of the window. Maybe he’ll throw Nick out of the window with it, he’s the one that keeps the damn thing on all the time.

“You alright?” Nick asks, stepping into the kitchen at the exact moment that Harry tugs at his hair in frustration.

No. He’s not alright.

“I’m fine,” Harry lies, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Nick nods, unconvinced and instead of walking away like Harry wants him to, he takes the seat on the other side of the table, popping open a can of soda. “Are you sure about that?” Nick asks, licking his lips. “I mean, you’ve been a little down this past week. More than this past week, in fact, it’s been the past couple weeks.”

“Nick, I said I’m fine,” Harry snaps, guilt washing over him immediately.

Nick holds his hands up defensively, his eyebrow raised. “You can open up to me. Whatever it is.”

Harry sighs because it might help to talk about it. He hasn’t given in to Louis’ questions or Liam’s puppy eye stares. And maybe that’s what he needs to do in order to feel better, just get it off his chest and let it all out. It wouldn’t hurt to try. “There’s this boy.”

“Ah, okay. I sensed that, I did. I knew that it was a boy.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry says and he reminds himself that this could help before he goes on. “So this boy, he um. I really liked him—like him. I like him, a lot. And um, I thought that maybe he had feelings for me, actual feelings. But as it turns out, there’s um. He’s involved with someone and I guess you could say that I was nothing more than a bit of fun, or something.”

Nick’s looking at him, his eyes narrowed, as he nods his head. He’s obviously thinking, trying to process the information that Harry’s given him.

“But the thing is, I can’t stop thinking about him,” Harry says, because he wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t. “It’s like, I’ve gotten a taste of him, a taste of the way he makes me feel and it’s euphoric, like a really good high from some kind of love drug that I want more of but I can’t have it, so my mind is constantly on him and I don’t know what to do, because it’s very obvious that it’s never going to work. I’m probably never going to see him again and he has someone else. When he shouldn't. He should have me.”

“Ah,” Nick sighs, shaking his head. “Love can be a fickle, fickle thing, Harry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He drains the rest of his soda, breathing out a sigh before he sets the can down on the table.

As Nick exits the kitchen, he claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder that does nothing to make him feel better.

\/\/\/\/\/

Louis must have decided that two weeks of Harry not telling him what was wrong is long enough and that having a dinner with the group of them is how he’s going to weasel Harry’s problems out of him. It’s a clever plan; Harry wonders how Louis didn’t think of this sooner, actually. It’s perfect really.

Harry shows up with a bottle of a wine and a smile that he’s sure reaches his eyes. Maybe it doesn’t though, because Louis rolls his eyes and grabs Harry by the collar of his shirt, dragging him through the house and into the dining room. He’s thrusted into a chair while Liam takes the bottle of a wine, a grateful smile on his face.

“It’s just you tonight, Harry?” Niall asks, frowning as he eyes Harry curiously.

And well, fine. If Harry’s not enough he can take his wine and go home, thank you very much. “No, it’s just me,” he says though, because he’s not really going to go anywhere. He’s all talk.

“Zayn didn’t want to come with ya?” Niall asks right before he takes an obnoxiously large bite out of his burger.

“No,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head. “Zayn has a girlfriend.” He smiles, grabbing a napkin and placing it on his lap. “Liam, can you give me that wine? No. I don’t need a glass, just the bottle is fine.”

Liam passes it over slowly, cautiously, like he’s scared of what might happen. And he should be, Harry thinks, popping out the cork and taking a swig of it. It’s not an appropriate way to drink wine, but he can’t be damned to care.

“You didn’t know that?” Louis asks.

Harry stops, lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle. He looks at Louis then Liam and Niall, all of them have similar looks on their faces, all of them telling Harry that they were aware that Zayn was with someone. They know who Perrie is.

Harry must be the only idiot.

“No, I didn’t know,” Harry says, mouth never leaving the rim of the bottle. He’s going to drink this whole thing. All of it. Man can survive on wine and wine alone, and if not, well, Harry’s determined to try.

“Everyone knows,” Niall tells him, taking another bite of his burger.

Harry takes one more drink from the bottle before he sets it down, fist still clamped around the neck. “Well, I’m glad everyone else knew. Thanks for the warning.”

“Harry,” Louis says, trying to reach out for the bottle. Harry snatches it off the table, holding it against his chest, and glares; it’s his wine. He bought it. “Let’s be honest here for a moment, okay? Can you handle honesty?”

Harry nods.

“You never stood a chance,” Louis tells him, “Zayn Malik is a god. And well, you know what happens when mortals try to get involved with gods.”

Harry bites his lip, looking at Louis through his lashes and says, “They get burned.”

“Every time,” Louis says sympathetically, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “But you’ll be alright. It might not feel like it, but I promise.”

“He was a nice guy, but it’s not right that he didn’t mention his girlfriend,” Liam adds in, patting Harry on the shoulder. “You deserve better.”

“I know a girl that you’d be lovely with,” Louis says, nibbling on a fry. “Actually, she goes to our school. I’ll set the two of you up.”

“No. No, that’s not necessary,” Harry says, setting the bottle of wine on the table to try and show them that he’s better. He’s fine. He’s not going to drink all the wine, he’s going to share it with all of them and he’s fine. He knows about Perrie now and he’s happy. Harry smiles quickly, making sure all three of them see it. “I appreciate the offer, but I really am okay.”

\/\/\/\/\/

Her name is Alexa, the girl that Louis tries to set Harry up with.

Harry’s walking down the halls of his university, books clutched in his grip as he heads to the library to return them. And in all honesty, Harry had forgotten about Louis’ plan to set him up with someone. He had thought he was in the clear, because in his opinion, he really was quite believable that night when he said that he was fine and he didn’t need help finding anyone. Even though he does need help, Harry’s truly terrible when it comes to love, but he’s not ready to have anyone now.

And maybe it’s because Louis never mentioned it again that Harry was convinced Louis wasn’t actively on the prowl, trying to find Harry someone to go out with.

Until Louis rounds the corner, grinning like he’s about to give Harry to best present of his life. Standing next to Louis, is Alexa. She’s tall, thin, and wearing a pair of denim shorts that show off the expanse of her smooth legs. And she really is beautiful, undeniably so with her short brown hair, soft bangs sweeping across her forehead. She reminds Harry of a cat, her features almost feline and when she smiles at him, Harry smiles back.

“Harry, this is Alexa,” Louis introduces, gripping Harry’s shoulder and forcing him closer. “She’s the one I told you about.” Louis is lying, he didn’t tell Harry anything about her other than he knows her, is all.

“Yeah,” Harry says, lying right there with Louis. “Um. Hello.”

“Hi,” she laughs, hand coming up to play with the ends of her hair. “Louis has been pretty incessant that we meet.”

“Alexa is a double major, studying journalism and fashion, isn’t that amazing?” Louis says and Harry wants to suggest that Louis date her, but then he remembers Liam, specifically the shade of red that Liam’s face turns when he’s angry and the way his biceps bulge so Harry swallows it down.

“That is amazing, I definitely don’t have what it takes to double major. I don’t even have a major.” It makes him feel inadequate to admit this out loud, but the way Alexa is smiling at him, something tells him that she’s been there before, knows the struggle of trying to settle down on a future. Maybe that’s why she’s chosen two.

Louis gasps, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Oh gosh, would you look at the time. I’m afraid that I have to go, sorry for not being able to stay and chat. I’ve got to meet Liam and he’s very stern about being on time, so I’d hate to disappoint him now.”

Harry glares at him and Louis gives him a look, one that tells Harry he better not fuck this up with her, because Alexa is marvelous and Harry is lucky to be standing in front of her.

Alexa waits until Louis is gone before she talks again. “He’s a bit strange sometimes, don’t you think?”

Harry laughs because she has no idea. “He means well, usually.”

“And you know that he’s not really going to meet Liam, right?”

“How do you know?” Harry asks because of course he knows that, but he didn’t think she would know that.

“Earlier, when we were in class, I had asked him what he was doing later and he said that he was going to your friend’s. Um, I think it was Niall? He said Liam was working late, didn’t sound very happy about it,” she explains, shrugging her shoulders as she leans against the wall next to her, still smiling at Harry.

Harry looks at her and something twists in his gut, something that feels a lot like guilt. And he has nothing to be sorry for but he sees Zayn, sees him as Harry tries to invite him back to his place after spilling a drink down the front of his shirt. He sees Zayn’s eyes crinkled shut as he laughs, sees the freckle in his eye right before his eyelids flutter closed and his lips are pressed against Harry’s. He sees it all and he has no reason to feel guilty, but he still does.

“I was getting ready to head out for a bite to eat, would you like to join me?” Alexa asks and Harry’s stomach drops because he has a reason to feel guilty about this, about whatever Louis told her about him, about whatever this introduction would lead to.

“The thing is,” Harry says, pulling his face into a sympathetic frown, “I really need to drop these off in the library. I’ve got class and so. Yeah, I really need to go.”

“Oh, alright. That’s fine,” she says, smiling at him, obviously unaware that Harry is blowing her off. He’s such an ass. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

“Yeah, we will,” Harry says, smiling once more before he sets off towards the library. He wonders briefly if he should have told her where he was going, if she’ll follow him. Once glance over his shoulder tells him that’s not the case, Alexa’s standing where he left her, already chatting with a blonde taller than her.

Harry feels bad about walking away from her, not even trying to give her a fair shot because she’s probably amazing, has to be if Louis thought of her specifically for Harry. But he’s just…not ready. Harry’s not sure, but something about it doesn’t settle well inside of his stomach. And there’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind that she’s not Zayn, no matter how lovely she may be.

\/\/\/\/\/

Louis wasn’t happy with Harry for blowing Alexa off, understanding, but not happy.

“She’s my friend, Harry, you could have given her a chance,” Louis had said over the phone later that night. Harry had sighed and tried not to feel guilty about letting Louis down as well.

But Harry’s guilt didn’t last long, because even though he feels bad for rejecting Alexa, they don’t know each other. And she’s gorgeous; Harry has no doubt that she’ll find someone. It’s just not going to be him, unfortunately. Or fortunately, maybe they’d have been awful together. One of those relationships that crashes and burns after being up so high, after being so wonderful.

And as it turns out, Harry’s guilt lasts as long as Louis’ disappointment, because a few days later, Harry gets a text from Louis that reads,

_I have found the most perfect girl for you. The girl of your dreams._

Harry spares a fleeting moment to think _oh god_ before he gets dressed for work, shoving his phone in his pocket. Maybe he’ll just pretend he never got that one.

\/\/\/\/\/

There’s a checklist of things that Harry needs to get done at work today and two hours into his shift, he’s almost finished, meaning that he’ll have enough time to finish editing the first draft of his history paper and, if he’s really productive, read some of the text assigned in his literature class.

Harry’s sweeping the floor when the bell rings and in walks Liam and Louis, hands clasped between them. There’s a girl behind them and Harry thinks she’s the one, the apparent girl of his dreams. And she is, actually. She’s beautiful and it makes Harry’s stomach flutter.

“Harry, this is Daisy,” Louis says and Harry nods, licking his lips, gripping stupidly onto the broom in his hands.

Daisy smiles and it’s big and warm, and so sincere that Harry can’t help but smile back at her. It’s infectious. Beyond her smile though, is jet-black hair and big, warm brown eyes. Her hair is longer than Alexa’s but the bangs are there, sweeping across her face. She’s wearing a white lace dress that compliments her long, soft looking legs. Harry can’t help but stare at them, eyeing them down to the combat boots on her feet.

“I’m Harry,” he says, realizing that he’s been staring at her. Eyes wide and mouth hung open, probably. “Yeah. I’m Harry.”

“Harry, is Caroline here?” Louis asks, looking around the store behind Harry. “Liam was wanting to have a chat with her. Weren’t you, Li?” He elbows Liam in the side and Liam nods, both to Harry and to Daisy.

“Oh yeah, I had some, um. I need help. Fashion help,” Liam says and Harry rolls his eyes.

“She’s in the back, I think. Her shift is over soon, so she might have snuck out,” Harry tells them watching as Louis grins, dragging Liam away. Harry sighs as he watches them go, shaking his head.

“They’re a funny pair,” Daisy says, smiling at him, moving slowly. She’s heading towards the dogs, of course, that’s where everyone goes. Harry follows her, propping his broom against the wall instead of dragging it around like an idiot. “Can I go back in there?” Daisy asks, pointing towards the room with the dogs and Harry shakes his head because-

“Customers aren’t allowed back there,” Harry tells her, smiling sympathetically. “I can one bring out for you to meet, though.”

“That’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. She’s not looking at Harry, still smiling at the dogs through the glass, waving at them. “I’ve got a dog at home, a little white fur ball with bug eyes, Monty. He’d have a proper stroke if I came home smelling like another dog, probably for the best that I’m not allowed back there.”

Harry nods, like he understands, like he has a dog of his own.

“So Louis was pretty adamant that we meet,” Daisy says, pulling away from the glass to finally look at Harry. She’s smiling and Harry hopes she never stops, because it makes Harry feel warm, happy.

“Yeah, he can be a bit pushy sometimes like that.”

“It’s alright, that’s why we all like him, isn’t it?”

“Among other things, I suppose.”

She nods, tongue wetting her lips quickly. “So you live with Grimmy, yeah?”

“Grimmy? Oh. Nick?” Harry asks because he didn’t think anyone knew Nick. Nick is—does he even leave the apartment? “How do you know Nick?”

She smiles, knowingly. “We’ve been friends for ages. He talks about you all the time, when he comes out.”

“Nick goes out?”

Daisy laughs, shaking her head, like Harry has no idea. And he really doesn’t. Nick never talks about it. And you know, Harry’s come home to him gone before but he’s never really thought about it. He always assumed he was out pestering the neighbors or buying more underwear.

“You should get to know your roommate more, Harry. He’s a really fun time,” she says, tearing her eyes away from Harry to look at something behind him, the clock probably. He is being rather boring. “I have an appointment, so I’m afraid that I have to go, but we’ll see each other soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says, following her to the door.

“You’ll have to come out with Grimmy sometime, you’ll have a blast,” Daisy says and then she’s gone, the bell of the door ringing in her wake.

Harry sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. They didn’t talk long and not about anything important but there’s something about her. There’s something about her eyes and her smile and her hair that reminds him of someone else, someone that they shouldn’t. Another someone with large brown eyes, another someone with hair as dark as the night’s sky, and a smile that makes Harry want to paint it across the same night sky, so the entire world can fall in love with that smile.

Turning around he sees Liam and Louis, both of them looking at him in anticipation, wanting to know what he thought of her, if Louis did a good job picking someone out for him.

“Well?”

“She’s great,” Harry says, honest. “And you were right, definitely the girl of my dreams, looks wise.”

“But?” Liam says, frowning, like he already knows what Harry’s going to say and there’s no way that he does, even if he has his suspicions.

“But I’m not like the two of you, you know. I’m not someone that has luck when it comes to love. Not like you both think I do or that I could, because you both found someone that loves you. Someone that really and truly loves you and wants to be with you for always,” Harry says, trying not to sound bitter. He’s not bitter. He’s happy for them, he always has been, but he is a little jealous. “I’ve never been so lucky. I mean, look at the relationship that I was in before I was with Liam, it ended horribly. And then there’s Liam, who, well. I’m sure you both remember how that went.”

“I still love you, though,” Liam says, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smile. “Not in the way that you’re looking for but I do, always have.”

“Well, isn’t that depressing,” Harry mumbles, releasing a deep breath. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m alone and that’s it, isn’t it?”

“You’re not alone,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve got us and Niall and that creep you call a roommate. You’re just going through a thing is all, soon you’ll be begging me for Daisy’s number.”

“No, I think I’m done with love,” Harry says because it just doesn’t work out for him. It’s rare that he finds someone he wants to actually be with, that he wants to tie himself down to, and every time he gets burned. It’s just not worth it.

Liam smiles at him sadly, it doesn’t reach his eyes and Harry refuses to feel bad about it. He’s the one that was in love with Louis, he’s the one that—it’s all his fault. Harry sighs, shaking his head. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just the way Harry’s cards have fallen, and he’s not going to blame Liam for it.

“Do you want to sleep at our place tonight?” Liam asks and Harry nods.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry’s lying on Louis and Liam’s couch later that night, the curtains drawn to block out the light from the street lamps. He’s enveloped in black, curled up in a thick duvet that smells a bit like Liam’s cologne mixed in with Louis’ favorite detergent. It’s oddly comforting, like they’re both lying on the couch with him, holding him close as Harry tries not to think about what exactly is going on in his life right now.

Louis and Liam went to sleep nearly an hour ago, but Harry can still hear them, can make out the sounds of their voices, as they talk to each other, unbeknownst to them that Harry is listening in on their conversation.

It’s not words that he can make out, not really, but he can hear their emotions in the tone of their voices, can hear the love pouring out of them. He can hear it in their laughter, as they lie in bed together. And something inside of Harry longs for the same thing, longs to lie in bed with someone and talk as the minutes on the clock tick away, not caring that they have to be up early in the morning, caring more about wanting to be with the person they love most.

Harry’s not sure what makes him do it, if it’s loneliness or the sheer fact that he misses Zayn – he wishes that he would have at least tried to explain what happened, why he’d go out with Harry when he has Perrie waiting for him.

Harry thumbs over the screen of his phone, unlocking it. The Internet browser is already open and Harry tries not to feel foolish as he types in Zayn’s name in the search bar. He switches to the image search once the page loads, staring down at an entire screen of Zayn’s face.

There’s one that catches Harry’s eye, it’s recent, taken at his movie’s premiere and Harry clicks it, wanting to see it larger. Wanting to see the fine details of Zayn’s beard, the way his eyes shine from the camera flash of the photographs in front of him.

Harry stares at the image, long enough that he can no longer hear Liam and Louis, long enough that he knows they’re both finally sleeping. He stares at it long enough until the knot in his chest is so tight that he can’t breathe because he shouldn’t miss someone that he barely knows this much. He shouldn’t.

Harry shoves his phone under his pillow because he’s being ridiculous and creepy. He shouldn’t be looking up pictures of Zayn online, shouldn’t be torturing himself in that way. Harry sees enough pictures of Zayn when he’s out, everyday, but something about this. Something about lying in bed and staring longingly at a picture of Zayn on the red carpet at his latest premiere, hair brushed back with a single stranded hanging down in front of his eyes makes Harry’s chest ache. The ache radiates throughout his bones so every bit of him hurts and feels heavy under the weight of it, like he’s not getting enough air or something equally important.

With a shaky breath, Harry rolls over, shoving his face into the cushion of the couch and trying his hardest to fall asleep, willing his body to shut down for the night.

\/\/\/\/\/

As Harry sits in class, he realizes that maybe he should have skipped. He should have left Louis and Liam’s place to head home and sleep the day away.

There’s an itch under his skin and he doesn’t know what it’s from, how it got there and why he feels like something is going to happen. He can hardly pay attention to his lecture, his notes consisting of just the date and course title. It’s the worst set of notes he’s taken all year, even worse than the ones he took when he’s showed up hung over, head pounding and stomach clenching unpleasantly.

Harry’s tapping the end of his pen on his notebook, clearly annoying the girl sat next to him, but he needs to do something, his nerves feel like they’re on fire. She reaches over and grips onto his wrist, giving him a dark look and Harry sighs, whispering an apology as he drops his pen.

Harry scrubs at his face, sliding his fingers back through his hair and scratching at his scalp, trying to shake himself of this feeling. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath because it’s probably nothing, he’s just tired, and that’s all. He hadn’t slept that well, having dreamt about his dinner with Zayn, only it didn’t end with Zayn and Perrie, it ended as Harry would imagined it would have, the two of them together.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry’s kicking rocks across the sidewalk as he walks home from class. That feeling hasn’t left him, the feeling of knowing that something is coming, like impending doom.

The sight of his blue door makes him sigh, a small smile on his face. It immediately drops, however, when he sees that there’s a figure sitting in front of his door. He’s wearing a red beanie pulled down low, blocking Harry’s view of his face from this far away. And he can’t make out the figure because he’s wearing baggie sweatpants and a long-sleeved white shirt. Harry thinks that it must be one of Nick’s friends, one of the ones he hangs around with that Harry doesn’t know. He thinks that until-

“Zayn?”

Zayn’s head snaps up and he stands quickly, he tries to smile but it looks pained and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Harry doesn’t understand what’s happening, doesn’t know what’s happening, but he knows that something is wrong, it’s that nagging feeling he’s had all day.

“Can I, um. Could I come in?” Zayn asks, looking at Harry before he looks down at his feet, kicking at a sidewalk, the line of his shoulders tense.

Harry nods, pulling his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door. He lets Zayn in first, a steady hand on his shoulder as they step inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

They stand there in silence for a moment, Zayn’s still staring down at the ground, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth and Harry is utterly clueless about what he should be doing. If he should be making tea or cookies or if Zayn needs a hug, or something to hit if he’s angry, Harry’s not sure.

“Perrie told the public about the fact that I um, that, you know, I’ve been with men. She told the world,” Zayn murmurs, glancing up at Harry through his lashes. “I’m not sure you know, like, what was going through her head, but she told them. And I just. The entire world knows that I’m gay or kind of gay,” Zayn pauses, pulling off his beanie to run his fingers through his hair, “I can’t think of the word for it now, but they know that I’m _that_.”

“Bisexual,” Harry supplies dumbly, biting on his lip when Zayn looks at him. “That’s the term you’re looking for, I believe.”

Zayn nods and whispers, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Harry takes a deep breath because it’s bad, awful really that the entire world is speculating on Zayn’s sexuality when it’s none of their business, especially not since Zayn didn’t give them permission to know about it, or at least know about the finer workings of it. But it’s not as bad as Harry thought it was going to be, a part of him thought that—it doesn’t matter what he thought before because he knows what it is now. Harry nods his head and decides that he can do this; he can try to make this an ounce better for Zayn.

“I can make some tea,” Harry tells him, toeing out of his boots. “And then I can draw you a bath. Or I could draw you a bath first. Yeah, I’ll do that. I have all these great things; it’ll be really relaxing. I promise. I’ve got candles, loads of them. Um, what scent would you prefer?”

“I don’t have a favorite scent for candles,” Zayn tells him, the tiniest trace of a smile on his face. Harry nods because, right. Okay.

“I have some lavender ones that we can light. I heard lavender is supposed to be really calming. And that it’s good for tension and I want to say depression but I’m not sure, I had a little pamphlet that I got from the candle shop,” Harry says, wondering if he can find that somewhere before he starts Zayn’s bath, he doesn’t want to give him the wrong scent.

“Lavender would be great,” Zayn says.

“Okay, perfect.” Harry smiles, motioning for Zayn to follow him as he disappears down the hall towards the bathroom. He stops at the closet and grabs a towel, a big fluffy one that Harry hasn’t had the chance to use yet. “Oh and I’ve got these, um, they’re called bath bombs. They’re really great, actually. I’ve only got one more, I can’t remember the name of it but it’s purple and it’s got some silver shimmer qualities to it. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“A purple bath. Who would have ever thought of that?”

Harry shrugs, dropping the towel on the vanity before he starts the bath. He spares a glance towards Zayn before he gets his candles out from where he keeps them under the sink, if they’re out then Nick will use them, but something about having to open the cabinet and pull them out stops him. Harry’s not sure.

“It’s the one I always get,” Harry tells him, beginning to light the candles with the lighter he also keeps under the sink, if he didn’t keep it with the candles then he’d never find it.

Harry looks up at Zayn and smiles at him, lining the candles up along the ledge of the tub where they’ll stay. Zayn watches him and something about the look on his face tells Harry that he’s thinking about it, what it must be like to bathe in a sea of purple every night, his hand scratching carefully at his chin.

“So you bathe in purple?” Zayn asks after a moment, after Harry’s turned the water off and dropped the bomb in the tub, watching as it dissolves into a stream of color.

“When I take a bath, yeah.”

“I think purple might just be my new favorite color,” Zayn says, tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

Harry swallows and he can feel the heat creeping from his cheeks down to his neck at Zayn’s words. He doesn’t know what to say so he steps away from the tub and as he’s exiting the bathroom he says, “I’ll be waiting for you out here, take your time. When you’re finished we can have some tea, maybe even some cookies.”

Zayn smirks at him, nodding, like he knows exactly what his words did to Harry.

\/\/\/\/\/

There are keys rattling in the door and Harry nearly drops the kettle because this really can’t be happening. Nick really cannot be coming home at a time like this. Nick is going to embarrass Harry and as Harry learned with his own attempt at being comforted by Nick, he’s really shit at it.

“Evening, Styles,” greets Nick, slamming the front door behind him. He’s moving at a rapid speed towards the bathroom, no doubt needing to go, but he can’t. And Harry can’t move quickly enough.

It’s like in slow motion, Nick walking into the bathroom, standing there for a few agonizing seconds before he steps back out, turning to look at Harry carefully.

“There’s a movie star in our tub, are you aware of that fact?” Harry nods. “Right. Hold on,” Nick says. He holds a finger up for Harry to wait before he steps back into the candlelit bathroom; he stares at Zayn for a moment before he leaves once more. “Right, so Zayn Malik is using your bath bomb.”

Harry makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan and sigh. He grabs Nick by the arm, pulling him down the hall so that Zayn can’t hear their conversation.

“He was using your candles.”

“I know,” Harry sighs, loosening his grip on Nick’s arm when they reach the front door, far enough away that Zayn can still possibly hear but maybe not.

“So you know that he’s literally naked in our bathtub?” Nick asks and Harry has nothing left to do besides sigh once more.

“I know,” Harry says again because how many times does he have to say it before Nick figures it out? “You can’t stay here tonight.”

“What? Why? I live here.”

“Doesn’t matter, you can’t stay here.”

“Harry,” Nick says, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, bracing him. “Zayn Malik is gay, there is no way that I am leaving this apartment.”

“That’s exactly why you’re leaving, actually. And he’s not gay, or he—you know what, mind your own business,” Harry snaps, slapping Nick’s hand off his shoulder. He glares at him and Nick raises an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. “His sexuality is not up for international debate, okay? And can you please just go? Just for tonight. And possibly tomorrow. No, definitely tomorrow.”

Nick looks at him, arms folded over his chest and foot tapping impatiently on the floor. He sighs, dropping his arms in exaggerated exasperation. “Alright, fine. But next time an actor stays in our apartment, he’s mine. Understood?”

“Yes. Definitely. Completely understood, the next actor is yours,” Harry says, nodding as he grips Nick by the shoulder, shoving him out the door.

\/\/\/\/\/

When Harry turns around he nearly drops his tea down his front because standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, is Zayn. He looks sheepish, his hand balled in a fist where his towel folds over the other side, right below a tattoo of a heart. It’s thick and black, standing in stark contrast to the unmarked skin around it. Harry’s eyes are drawn to it and then, almost as if the tattoo is leading his gaze there, Harry’s staring at the thin wisps of hair cutting between his abs and disappearing beneath his towel.

Harry swallows, licking his lips, and grips the cup in his hand a little tighter, his eyes going wide when he realizes that Zayn’s been talking to him, asking him something.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry asks, blinking, trying to make it look like he had something in his eye and not that he was checking Zayn out.

Zayn laughs, shaking his head at Harry. “I said have you got any clothes that I could borrow. I don’t really want to put these back on, they’re dirty.”

Clothes. Yeah, Harry has clothes. He glances around, trying to remember where he keeps them. “Right,” he says, setting his cup down on the table. He leads Zayn into his bedroom and immediately starts rummaging through his drawers, discretely sniffing at some of them to make sure they don’t smell too awful. “Here’s a shirt,” he says, passing along a grey one. “Do you, like, want some sweats or-“

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Zayn says and when Harry turns around, he’s pulling the shirt on over his head, completely uncaring that his towel is slipping a little lower, exposing the cut of his hips and showing Harry just how far down the hair from his navel travels.

“I’ll just leave you to it.” Harry shields his eyes away when he sees Zayn grab at the knot of the towel, rushing out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see, obviously he does. But there is tea waiting to be made and he promised Zayn that he would have some when he was finished with his bath. “How do you like your tea?” Harry hollers, listening as Zayn shouts that just a bit of sugar is fine.

And when Harry turns around again, Zayn’s standing in his kitchen, this time with the towel around his shoulders and Harry’s clothes on his body and Harry’s not sure which is worse.

Harry sets the tea down on the table, smiling at Zayn as he passes him. He promised cookies as well and he knows that they have some; he’s just not sure what kind that Zayn would like, so he asks, “Chocolate chip or peanut butter?”

“Chocolate chip,” Zayn replies, taking a seat at the table, his knees drawn up.

Harry doesn’t know what to say to Zayn at the moment, so he drinks his tea in silence, allowing Zayn to process whatever he needs to process. And it looks like he’s thinking, his jaw set and eyes narrowed in concentration, his tea held up to his mouth. He’s not drinking it, though, just staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. He wants to say something and he wishes that he knew what to say to make it all better, to let Zayn know that he’s here for him, however he needs him. But he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t want to do it wrong.

“Perrie and I weren’t together,” Zayn says, long after Harry’s finished his tea and eaten enough cookies that his stomach is protruding slightly.

“What?”

“Perrie and I, we weren’t together when you showed up to my hotel room.”

Oh, Harry thinks, nodding. That’s not what the articles online said, not a single one of them, but Harry doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say anything, not for a while, not until Zayn turns to look at him.

“Then what was she doing there?” Harry asks because that’s all he can think to ask that shouldn’t make Zayn angry. He wants to ask if they weren’t together why was she allowed in Zayn’s hotel room and not him. But he bites his tongue, swallowing the words down.

Zayn sighs, dropping his feet down on the floor and setting his cup down on the table. “It was in July—no, the end of June when we called it quits. There wasn’t any real reason, I don’t think. At least not like the media thinks. I didn’t cheat on her, it was just the end.”

“The end,” Harry repeats, wanting to taste the words on his tongue. They don’t do anything to ease away the knot in his stomach, though.

“Yeah. The end,” Zayn says, letting out a deep breathing. “My career was picking up, I was constantly on location on one side of the world while she was on the other, either touring or working on her album.”

“And?” Harry asks because while Zayn’s ex-girlfriend was in Zayn’s room, piecing a conversation together in her head, one that she hoped would get her Zayn back, Zayn was out with Harry. On a date, or at least Harry thinks it was a date. No. It was definitely a date, he’s sure. “What happened that night?”

“She wanted to talk. It’s been a while since we were in the same city, so,” Zayn shrugs, like that explains it all. And it doesn’t, not really, not even a little bit. “She wanted to see if there was anything left to work out.”

“Is there?” Harry asks, dropping his gaze down to the table, unable to look at Zayn.

“No,” Zayn answers coolly, and the knot in Harry’s stomach dissipates into nothing, almost like it was never there. “It was just—god, it was like, it came at the worst time, because you were there and we had just gone out, but then she was there and I wanted to call you, wanted to explain but-”

“I understand.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you that my ex-girlfriend was here and I’m trying to give her the respect she deserves with, you know, by telling her that it’s just not there anymore, not for me. And the last thing I wanted was to tell her that and then have you come in the room, ya know? It wouldn’t have been fair. Not to anyone.”

Harry breathes out, rubbing his hands along the material of his pants, as he nods his head. “So I wasn’t—I mean, you weren’t cheating on her? Not like before, that’s not my business, but like, you know, with me?”

Zayn breathes out a laugh, biting down on his lip, like he’s trying to hide it. “Believe me, Harry, if I wanted nothing more than a night with you, I wouldn’t have met your friends. So no, there was no cheating.”

Harry nods, releasing a sigh that feels like a weight has been removed from his shoulders, and the bit of emotion that he’s been trying to keep in control these past couple weeks slowly starts to dissolve. “So then what happened? Like, the reason you’re here, what happened?” Harry asks.

The hint of laughter on Zayn’s face disappears and Harry almost regrets asking it, wants to suck the words back in and pretend like they never came out. But he can’t, because that’s why Zayn’s here, the reason for his sudden appearance on Harry’s doorstep. It only feels right to ask now rather than bring it up later.

“She was doing an interview and they asked about me—about us. They wanted to know if she had forgiven me for the latest affair that I’ve had,” Zayn tells him, rolling his eyes. “From what I’ve read – and I’ve read a lot about this – she laughed the question off, confirmed that we haven’t been together in months and then she joked about the fact that she isn’t really the kind of person that I’m interested in pursuing anymore.”

“So she didn’t definitively say that you were gay?” Zayn shakes his head. “People just connected the dots?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Does it bother you that the world knows?” Harry asks.

Zayn shakes his head again and says, “No. It bothers me that it wasn’t me that got to really tell everyone, but it doesn’t bother me that everyone knows.”

“Alright, I can understand that,” Harry says, scratching at his jaw. “I just—I mean, if you weren’t trying to hide it, and Perrie just made an off hand comment, then like—I don’t know.”

“What does it matter?” Zayn asks and Harry shrugs.

“I wouldn’t say it like that.”

“It matters because I think it should be my right to tell seven billion people, not someone else.”

Harry nods, biting down on his bottom lip. Zayn looks frustrated, like his brain and his mouth aren’t working together to help him put his thoughts into words and he’s not saying everything that he wants to. But Harry gets what he’s saying, he understands.

“Are you angry with her?” Harry asks, looking at Zayn carefully, because he wants to make sure that Zayn’s telling him the truth. He was doesn’t want Zayn to sweep his emotions under a rug when he’s around Harry, he wants him to share them, to give Harry that little insight into his life.

Zayn exhales loudly, fingers running through his hair, stopping when he gets to the base of his scalp. He holds onto it, thinking. “Yeah, a little bit. Not even that she told, not really. She knew—she’s always known about my sexuality. And she knew that I was kind of pursuing a boy,” Zayn says, glancing at Harry briefly, “but I think because I was open with her and our friends and my family, you know, the people who matter, that she never really made the connection that I’m not open about that part of me with the world. I mean,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “we were fairly open about our relationship, in a way. So I can understand her confusion.”

“But she shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, she shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t done maliciously. She called me this morning crying, because she felt awful about it. And of course I forgave her, I just wish I was more prepared for it, more prepared for the world to be talking about me, more prepared for the world to be standing outside my hotel. More prepared for my manager to flip out that I didn’t prepare her,” Zayn says, laughing lightly under his breath.

Harry nods because it’s understandable and Harry’s in no position to tell Zayn how he can and can’t feel, but he is in a position where he can make Zayn feel better, so he says, “Something will happen, maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but soon. Something is going to happen and people will stop speculating about this. Perrie’s words won’t be forgotten, but people will stop talking about it,” Harry promises, offering Zayn a smile.

It’s different for Harry, because there are only seven people in the world that he can think of off the top of his head that would care enough to hear about the inner workings of his mind and his life. But it’s not like that for Zayn; the entire world wants to know all the finer workings of Zayn. Everything. They want all of it, even the parts that Zayn doesn’t want to share or might not be ready to share. So maybe Harry doesn’t fully understand this, but he knows how the world works in regards to big news from the media, they focus on one thing until another comes along and then, it’s like what they were talking about yesterday never happened.

“Do you think that I could stay here for a while?” Zayn asks. “Just for a bit, until this whole thing dies down.”

“You could stay forever,” Harry tells him and Zayn smiles, the first genuine smile that Harry has seen all afternoon.

\/\/\/\/\/

Zayn seems to have calmed since he told Harry about what happened. His shoulders are no longer taut, his brows no longer pulled together, as he glares, deep in thought. Instead, he sits on Harry’s couch, Harry’s laptop resting on his thighs, as he sorts through his email. Harry’s made sure that he hasn’t been checking social media, hasn’t been trying to figure out what people are saying about him, but Zayn assured him that he didn’t care, and that he wasn’t the least bit interested in testing that theory.

And while Zayn browses through Harry’s laptop, Harry has a book open on his lap, trying to get some reading done for class – try being the operative word, because Harry can’t keep his eyes off Zayn. There’s something inside of him, a nagging thought in the back of his mind and a tug in his gut that are telling him to do something, to make it better.

Harry watches as Zayn rubs at his jaw, fingers gliding up into his hair. Harry’s eyes track the movement, following the sharp line of his jaw to the bushy mess of hair on top of his head, thick and soft. It seems that’s the only way to describe all of the hair on Zayn’s head, his beard and eyelashes as well. Harry watched them as he blinked, wondered if he could get away with counting them instead of studying. Probably not.

“What are you reading?” Harry asks finally, watching as Zayn’s eyes scan the computer screen for another couple seconds before he glances up at Harry, blinking his eyes into focus.

“Movie roles,” he answers. “Since I’m not answering any of my manager’s emails or calls, he’s resorted to having my agent send me scripts. Um, movies that I could audition for.”

“Yeah?” Harry says, feeling his stomach bubble up with excitement. He wants to read them. He wants to help Zayn find the perfect script. “What did he send you?”

Zayn looks at him, calculating before he says, “Alright. Let’s see…” He scrunches up his face as his fingers move across the trackpad, scrolling back up to the top. “Before I read these, you have to understand that my team is trying to, you know, broaden the types of films that I’m in. They want me to be more dynamic, so that more people consider me for their movie.”

Harry stares at him, eyebrows pulled together, because Harry can’t think of a single reason why Zayn doesn’t belong in a movie. Harry’s seen his movies, has seen the raw talent that oozes out of him with every role. Like when he was in the latest Superman movie, Harry remembers watching it and thinking that Zayn could save the world, rid it of all it’s horrors, because he was that convincing. He was that good. Or the one where Zayn played the lonely poet with a singing voice that sent chills down Harry’s spine, made him believe that love really was all you needed.

“So this first movie, it’s about a single father who, well, the summary is quite long, but he falls in love and finds himself along the way. I’m not sure.” Zayn frowns as he scrolls through the email and Harry shakes his head, no. Zayn’s better than that.

“No. Not that one. What else do you have?”

“This next one is about-” Zayn laughs under his breath, shaking his head and when Harry looks at him, eyes wide, curiosity written across his face, he says, “It’s about two friends, they’re living on the street and one of them is in love with the other. It’s a movie about their journey, together, and about the one boy’s unrequited love for his best friend. Um, another male.”

Harry smiles, reaching over to shake Zayn excitedly. “That sounds good. You should do that.”

“I’m not sure, Harry. It’s—I’m not sure.”

“Why aren’t you sure about it?”

“It’s just-“ Zayn shakes his head, turning to look back at the computer. “Let’s just go to the next one.” Harry nods, because he doesn’t want to push the wrong buttons when it comes to Zayn. He doesn’t want to force him to cave in on himself and shut Harry out, especially when Zayn came here for comfort, came here to get away from the things that made him want to cave in on himself. “This is another love story.”

“We seem to have a theme going on.”

“That we do,” Zayn agrees. “But this one is about an artist trying to gain the love of his long time fuck buddy, who doesn’t seem to want to be with him.”

“Didn’t you say that your agent sent you scripts?” Harry asks, pulling his legs underneath his body, arm resting against the back of the couch. His finger are close to the nape of Zayn’s next, where the soft hairs curl at the ends. If he reaches out—if he just stretches his fingers out, he could touch them. He could gently glide his fingers through them, scratching lightly at Zayn’s scalp. Harry curls his fingers into a fist to stop himself.

“Some of them have scripts, others are just detailed summaries, I guess.”

Harry nods. “All right, now tell me about these fuck buddies.”

“So, it’s me, I’d be playing an artist that is desperately in love with someone that only wants sex. But they don’t love me back, they don’t want anything to do with me, just want my body.”

“So what happens, then?”

“Well, I try to get them to fall in love with me.”

“Does it work?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So you’re not meant to be with the person you were in love with?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding. “They’re meant to be with someone else, or they just don’t love me, I guess.”

“I don’t like that one,” Harry says, shaking his head. It might be a true reality of the world but it’s not a role that he wants to see Zayn in, he doesn’t want to imagine Zayn being with someone and falling in love with them only to find out that they can’t be his, maybe not ever. It’s not- “What else?”

Zayn looks at Harry, studying him carefully. There’s something in his gaze, something that makes Harry’s stomach knot up. He can’t put his finger on it, but it feels like Zayn can see right through him, can read Harry’s every thought. It leaves Harry breathless.

“This last one is about a movie star that falls in love,” Zayn reads.

“Who does he fall in love with?”

“Someone average, someone with a normal life. A teacher, I believe it said,” Zayn says, looking at Harry.

“All of these are about love,” Harry says back because he can’t- He can’t process what Zayn’s eyes are saying to him, what that look he’s giving him means.

“It’s a popular theme in Hollywood. Everyone loves a good love story.”

Harry nods, licking his lips. “Who would you play?” He asks and he doesn’t have to specify in order for Zayn to know what Harry’s asking him.

“The movie star.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and watches as Zayn turns his head away from Harry. But it’s not to look back at the computer screen. He presses a kiss to the inside of Harry’s wrist, soft lips against Harry’s pulse. It’s in that moment that Harry realizes his fingers have been massaging Zayn’s scalp all the while. He doesn’t know when he started it, but suddenly the looks Zayn were giving him make sense.

Harry’s stomach flutters, his heart rate picking up and he worries, for a moment, that his heart is going to burst right out of his chest.

\/\/\/\/\/

“The sheets are washed, so you don’t have to worry about that,” Harry says, standing in his doorway, watching as Zayn glances around his bedroom. “You’re free to rummage through my drawers for pajamas, anything you want. I’ll leave my laptop with you, in case you want to use it.”

“Alright,” Zayn says, rubbing his palms together in front of him.

“If you get hungry, you can help yourself to anything that we have. It might not be the most fully stocked kitchen, but make yourself at home.”

“Alright.”

“And you know, if you can’t sleep, you’re free to take another bath. Sometimes that helps me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Or, if you really can’t sleep, then you can come get me. You know, if you’re thinking about what happened earlier and you need to talk about it some more, you can call me.”

“I will, Harry,” Zayn says. “I promise.”

Harry looks at him for a minute, takes in the scene of Zayn wearing his clothing in his bedroom before he nods, flipping the light switch off. The lamp on his dresser is still on, leaving the room lit in a soft yellow glow, dim enough that Harry can still make out Zayn’s features.

“I’ll just be down the hall,” Harry says, stalling. “On the couch. I don’t know what’s going on with Nick’s sheets, so. Yeah. That’s where I’ll be.”

Zayn nods and Harry releases a chest full of air before he nods himself, turning to leave.

A hand on his wrist stops him, long fingers curling around his skin, turning him around and pulling him into the room. Harry’s tongue feels heavy, skin burning in the places where Zayn is touching, but he thinks if Zayn let go of him, if Zayn removed his hands from Harry’s skin that they’d burn even more, an ache that would only ever be satisfied when Zayn touched him again. Harry tries not to visibly shudder at the thought.

“I thought about you,” Zayn says, lightly tracing Harry’s jaw. “After you left the hotel, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Harry’s breath hitches and he swallows, eyes fluttering closed as Zayn’s hands travel passed his ribs. “About me?” He manages, eyes still closed as Zayn’s fingers slip underneath his shirt, as something twists in Harry’s groin.

“Just you,” Zayn clarifies, pulling Harry closer as he takes a step back, slowly moving them across the room. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about what could have happened if you had gotten the opportunity to come up to my room,” he says, just seconds before he presses a feather-light kiss to Harry’s jaw, his other hand resting at the nape of Harry’s neck.

Zayn continues pressing kisses along his skin, lips pressing from his jaw and down his neck, Zayn’s stubble dragging harshly against Harry’s skin. “What,” Harry clears his throat, “would have happened?”

Zayn breathes out a laugh that sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, the air hitting at his sensitive skin before Zayn pulls back to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Do you really not know?” Zayn asks, fingers sliding up Harry’s ribs, pushing his shirt up with the movement. Harry rolls his eyes, taking a step back to pull his shirt off, tossing it on the floor. “Do you kind of get it now, or do you need further instruction?”

“I um. I think I get it a bit better now,” Harry says, allowing Zayn to tug him in close again, his chest pressed against the thin cotton of Zayn’s shirt. “But I don’t think I know, like, where you want this to go.”

Zayn laughs again, lips pressed to the skin of Harry’s neck. “That’s what I like about you, Harry,” he says quietly, hands roaming across Harry’s skin, calloused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You don’t assume things; you don’t expect me to give you anything. I like that you’re in awe of me, but not in a way that makes me worried you’ll hide in the trash outside my hotel.”

“I could hide in your trash,” Harry jokes, hands moving to grip at Zayn’s waist, feeling the soft skin and the bones of his hips. He wonders, if he tries hard enough, if he can find the bit of skin that’s been inked, the areas that have been altered forever. “If you wanted.”

“No you couldn’t,” Zayn says, pulling away to finally look at Harry. “You’re not bendy enough, your legs are too long, and you’d never fit.”

“I can be bendy,” Harry assures him, dragging Zayn’s shirt – his shirt, his mind supplies – up Zayn’s body, tugging it off with ease. “I could show you, if you’d like.” Harry bites his bottom lip and Zayn grins at him, fingers curling in the waistband of Harry’s sweats. He looks at Harry, an eyebrow raised and Harry swallows, trying not to release a deep breath.

Zayn watches Harry closely as he tugs down his pants, he’s being careful to make sure that this is what Harry wants. And it is, Harry’s nerves are vibrating with want, this need to lie down on the bed and spread himself open for Zayn.

But a part of Harry, a small part, is scared, because the thing is, despite how many sexual partners Harry may have had in the past, he feels like he might be too inexperienced to be with Zayn. Which is such shit, because another part of Harry realizes that Zayn wants this just as much as he does, experience or not.

Harry can see, can see the want in the outline of Zayn’s cock through the thin material of the sweatpants that Harry loaned him. Harry’s staring at it, fingers moving on their own accord to trace it through the cotton, feeling Zayn harden just so under his touch. Zayn sucks in a breath at the contact, head dropping down on Harry’s shoulder as his hand dips into the material of Harry’s boxers.

He nearly falls forward at the feeling of Zayn’s hands wrapping around his cock, as Harry kisses along Zayn’s jaw, breathing in the scent of his arousal, wanting to taste it, so he nips playfully at the skin, listening to Zayn’s breath hitch at the feeling.

“The bed,” is all Harry can say, because he needs to lie down, needs to sit. He needs to do something, his knees are weak, wanting to collapse forward on top of Zayn and fuck into his hand properly, but he can’t. The angle’s off with Zayn being shorter than him and Harry finds that all he can do is roll his hips, trying to chase the sensation instead of properly fucking into his fist, but it’s making him want it more, so maybe Zayn’s plan is working, maybe this is what he wanted, wanted Harry to beg for it in the middle of his bedroom.

But Zayn seems to understand what he’s asking for, yanking his hand out of Harry’s boxers to spin them around. He pushes Harry back gently until he’s lying down properly, pillows under his back instead of his head, as Zayn crawls between his legs. He leans down, catching Harry’s lips in a kiss that’s wet and sloppy, Zayn sucking on his tongue as his hand finds its way back into his boxers, massaging his balls before he grabs his dick again.

Harry whines into the kiss when Zayn’s nails brush against his slit, but his hips buck up, wanting more.

Zayn’s hard in his sweatpants; Harry blindly reaches for him, trying to get his hand around Zayn’s cock. He wants to put his mouth around it, wants Zayn to fuck into his mouth until his throat is raw, bruised in the back, until Harry can’t speak, voice abandoning him when Zayn draws his cock out. But Zayn thinks otherwise, because he’s pulling away from Harry’s mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth when Harry whines, chasing his mouth.

Harry’s ready to beg, ready to flip them over so that he can get down on his knees and plead with Zayn to fuck him, but he doesn’t have to. Zayn’s rummaging around through his side drawers, groaning in relief when he finds a condom and a packet of lube.

“I’ve thought about this,” Zayn tells him, dropping the condom and lube down on the bed. “Thought about what it would be like to spread you open. Thought about how your cock would taste, if it’d be pretty and pink like your lips,” Zayn says, thumb stroking across Harry’s lips.

Harry’s breath catches at Zayn’s words and at the risk of looking eager, Harry hooks his thumbs into his boxers and tugs them off, tossing them off the side of the bed. He’s not shy, definitely not about his cock, but the way Zayn’s looking at him, staring down at him with an intensity that Harry’s never seen before, it twists deep in his gut, this fresh burst of arousal coursing through his veins.

“I really want to suck you off,” Harry tells him, watching as Zayn’s eyelids flutter, watching as he releases a shaky breath. “Could I?”

Zayn curses, stepping off the bed to shed his sweats and Harry’s stomach twists again at the realization that Zayn’s been wearing his pants all day without anything underneath them. His cock has been rubbing up against the thin cotton material; the thought alone is enough to get him off. And he wants to suck Zayn off more when he sees his dick, wants to bury his face in hair at the base of his shaft, wants to inhale the scent of it, let it consume his senses.

Harry hadn’t even thought of Zayn’s dick before now, but there it is, can see the thick vein that wraps around the center and travels upwards, like a map for Harry’s tongue, giving him directions on the perfect places to touch.

Harry’s question is answered as Zayn slicks his fingers up with lube, spreading Harry’s legs at the thigh—he distracts him with a kiss, tongue flicking out against the roof of Harry’s mouth, as he works him open. Harry wants to cry with how slowly Zayn is opening him up, stretching him out with just a finger and then another and another until Harry is squirming underneath him, fingers gripping at his biceps, licking lamely at Zayn’s tongue.

“You’re really going to have to fuck me now,” Harry breathes out, spreading his legs open just a little bit wider- pulling his knees up just a little bit more to his chest. Zayn moans at the sight of Harry’s rim around his fingers, stretched and red. He slams his lips across Harry’s and Harry hears the condom as he tears it open, and then-

Zayn’s pushing inside of him and Harry’s mind whites out for a second, his body numb to everything that isn’t Zayn. He can hear the quiet groan, can feel the twitch of Zayn’s muscles, can taste the sweat on his skin, as he licks a strip of skin from his neck to his jaw, open mouthed kisses until he’s sucking on Zayn’s bottom lip, grinding down on his cock to get him to move.

“You have to tell me that you’re good. You have to-“

“Like, that I’m a good boy?” Harry asks. It’s not the first time, he’s done it before, and he can do it again. It’s not, however, something he would have liked to do the first time he sleeps with someone, but he can do it, for Zayn. He could.

“No, fuck,” Zayn groans out in frustration. “Can I move?”

“Oh, god, yes, please,” Harry tells him. He has one leg wrapped around Zayn’s waist; the other bent forward, his knee pressed against his chest where Zayn is pinning it. Harry wants to wrap them both around his waist, pulling him closer, get Zayn to fuck into him deeper, harder.

Zayn drops forward, his hips working rapidly, as he presses his face into Harry’s neck, letting go of his knee to grab at his waist. He’s mumbling against Harry’s skin, the words getting lost in his moans and Harry can’t even see straight, his vision blurring around the edges, zoning on Zayn, on the feeling of him inside of him, being stretched open around Zayn’s cock.

“Harry,” Zayn moans in his ear, the second part cut off when Harry purposefully clenches around him. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Harry, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, grabbing Zayn’s hand and guiding it towards his untouched dick. And Zayn shifts a bit with the movement and suddenly he’s nudging Harry in just the right spot, the right angle to have him crying out. “Zayn, oh fuck. You have to, please.” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but he wants it, wants it all.

And somehow, once again, Zayn knows what he’s asking for. He fucks into Harry faster, strokes him quicker, in the same rapid movement to match that of his hips and Harry’s stomach is coiling up, deep in his belly and all he can do is choke out Zayn’s name before he comes, thick hot spurts of come on Zayn’s fist and stomach.

Harry’s mind whites out again, going completely blank and focusing completely on the feeling.

And when Zayn comes, Harry swallows the sound of his name and helps Zayn through it, stroking down his bare back enjoying the feeling of Zayn twitching inside of him while it lasts.

When Zayn opens his eyes, disconnecting his lips from Harry’s, he smiles down at him, brushing the sweaty curls off Harry’s forehead and it almost feels like the start of something, something that Harry could only imagine in a dream.

\/\/\/\/\/

Getting out of bed the next morning is wiped completely from Harry’s agenda. He wakes up late for class anyway, his phone dead in the other room. But Zayn’s curled up behind him, arm slung over Harry’s waist and breathing into the back of his neck.

Harry lies there, naked and enjoying the warmth of Zayn’s body pressed against his back instead of worrying about contacting his teachers to make sure he can get the assignments, instead of worrying about letting Louis know that he’s alive, just not going to be in class. Harry doesn’t have a care in the world, not a single thing. In fact, he thinks that the only care he might have is that he can’t see Zayn’s face from this position, can only feel his nose pressed against the base of his skull, his lips when he breathes out a little harsher, his thighs from where they’re pressed against the back of Harry’s. But it’s not enough to fill Harry’s insatiable need for Zayn.

Selfishly Harry hopes that Zayn will let him suck him off before breakfast. And then again after, right before Harry gets his turn in the shower, right before Zayn fucks him into the ceramic tiled wall. God, he hopes they spend the entire day naked, naked and in Harry’s bed, just the two of them.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he huffs out a breath, slowly beginning to turn his body so that he can face Zayn. But he’s doing it, and he’s nearly successful in not waking Zayn until a hand tightens around his hip, thumbs brushing against the tattooed leaf there.

“It’s too early to be awake,” Zayn says, loosening his grip so that Harry can roll over properly, tucking his legs between Zayn’s. Zayn immediately wraps his arm back around Harry’s waist, pulling him a little closer. “God, what have you done to me? I’m impossibly tired.”

“Nothing that good old fashioned exercise won’t do to a person,” Harry teases, reaching out to trace the wings on Zayn’s collarbone, following the lines down to the lips. Harry wonders how long he’d have to suck on the skin there before the color of the lips is no longer cherry red, but rather the colors of Harry’s mark, his claim to Zayn’s skin.

“Is that what they tell you at school?” Zayn asks, eyes still closed. “Are they telling students that sex is the perfect exercise?”

“Oh yes,” Harry says very seriously. “Sometimes we have practice sessions with the other students, like football practice, only with our cocks out and a thin bit of rubber as our only protection.”

Zayn cracks an eye open at that, staring at Harry. “How many practice sessions have you had?”

“Enough to know that I’m unsatisfied. I definitely need to quit that class—that sport, maybe. Should we call it a sport?”

Zayn groans, legs stretching out around Harry’s as he wakes properly now, muscles stiff from sleep. “You can call it whatever you’d like,” Zayn tells him, blinking the sleep from his eyes, “since it’s a made up class, and sport, even.”

“Technically all classes are made up, not in the same way, but teachers have to propose them. They make them up and design them, I spoke to one of my professors about it, he was trying to start a course for the chemistry of color.”

Zayn looks at Harry for a moment, biting down on his bottom lip. “Is that what it’s like for uni students? Is it, like—is that normal? To talk to your professors about their other classes?”

“I mean, yeah. I guess,” Harry shrugs. He’s never really thought about it. “You have to talk to them about something, so why not choose a topic that you know is safe?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, fingers drawing patterns along Harry’s spine. “I haven’t set foot in a school since I was a teenager, don’t really have the luxury of knowing what a regular university is like.”

Right, Harry thinks, nodding. He hadn’t thought about that, hadn’t considered the appeal of his life to Zayn. Obviously he’s thought about Zayn’s life, not his necessarily, but thought about what it would be like to walk down the street with the vague knowledge that every single person knows who he is, just by face. He’s thought about what that would feel like, if it would be weird to get asked for pictures when he’s out buying toilet paper. Harry’s thought about what it would be like to walk into a shop and know that every single thing could be his, if he wanted it, but he’s never considered that people on that side of things wonder about his life.

“It’s really the only option that I have,” Harry says carefully, because that’s not true. Harry’s mother has told him countless times that he could do anything, even something like saving the world, and he believed her, always. “Some people are born to fall out of the mundane essentials of life; others are born to continue on that path. Neither is better than the other, both lives hold value and meaning, but it’s always about the grass being greener on the other side, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Zayn says, nodding.

“It’s like this, my life, to get to where I want to go, I need this education. It’s a path that I have to take, but you were able to work around it. Sure things are a bit different for us, but I bet there are days where your life is just as mundane, just as boring as mine.”

“Yeah, but that’s usually when I find a random university student to sleep with,” Zayn jokes but Harry’s expression drops, his smile fading and body instantly trying to pull away from Zayn, but Zayn holds onto him a little tighter, pulling him back. “That was a bad joke, I’m sorry. I don’t—I can assure you that your track record with uni students is far greater than mine. I promise.”

Harry breathes out, nodding, even if the statements left a sour taste in his mouth and a rotten feeling in his stomach.

“I’ve only slept with four people since I got serious about acting,” Zayn admits, looking between their bodies. “I’m not—I literally don’t have the luxury of sleeping with just anyone, not that I would want to. I can’t let my personal life get out there like that, I have to protect myself.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Harry says.

“I wasn’t implying that you would, I’m just saying. This isn’t something that I do all the time. You’re not—you’re not just another face.”

“Another fuck,” Harry corrects and Zayn rolls his eyes, nodding.

“Yeah, I was trying to be a little more polite, but yeah. You’re not just another fuck.”

Harry’s doorbell sounds and he frowns, because no one usually stops by to visit him. No one that Harry would want to see right now. He smiles at Zayn, hoping that if he ignores it, pretends like he never heard anything that Zayn will think it was all in his head. But it goes off again, and then once more after that.

“Are you going to answer that?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry groans, tossing the blankets off his body and untangling himself from Zayn’s limbs.

“It’s probably Louis,” Harry mutters, he’s going to punch him when he opens the door, him ‘em right in the eye and then rush back to bed with Zayn. He hopes that it’s Nick, because he’s really the only person that Harry could get away with doing that to, possibly Niall, if he got lucky. “He’s probably wondering why I missed class.”

“You’ve got a cute butt,” Zayn tells him as Harry’s bent over, pulling on the sweats that Zayn wore the night before. “It’s little and round. It’s cute, really cute.”

Harry laughs the comment off as he stumbles out of the bedroom, heading towards the door where the bell is being rung once again. He’s going to rip the damn thing out of the wall if they don’t stop.

It’s a combination of things really that makes Harry ignore the peephole entirely. For one thing, he’s convinced himself that it has to be Louis, coming to check on him since his phone is dead and he’s missed class. For another thing, he’s convinced himself that it’s Nick, wanting to see if he’s allowed home and to find out the dirty details of what happened with Zayn, like Harry would ever tell him. And finally, Harry definitely did not expect to swing his front door open and be met with the sight of hundreds of photographers taking his picture, the camera flash going off in the middle of the day.

Harry’s stunned, staring out at them with hair wild, blowing around in the breeze, and wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweats that are hanging low on his hips. He stares for another second before he slams his front door closed, muttering “Shit. Oh fuck.”

He glances up and sees Zayn standing behind him, eyes wide and wrapped in Harry’s bed sheet. The look on his face tells Harry everything, it tells him that he saw the photographers outside, that they got pictures of Zayn wrapped in nothing more than a sheet and Harry with the v of his hips out on full display.

“Zayn,” Harry tries, because Zayn’s not doing anything, just breathing heavily as he looks at Harry. “Are you all right?” He asks, reaching out for him but Zayn steps back, effectively missing Harry’s touch.

“What are they doing here?” Zayn whispers, staring at Harry.

“I have no idea,” Harry mutters. And it must have been the wrong thing to say, because Zayn’s eyes flash with an emotion that looks an awful lot like betrayal, his jaw clenching. “Zayn, it’s alright.” Which is doubly the wrong thing to say, apparently.

“It’ll be alright?” Zayn spits out, glaring harshly at Harry, who is still trying to blink the memory of the flash out of his vision. “There are photographers outside of your front door. They took pictures of us, dressed like this, and you think it’ll be alright?”

“Yeah, I mean. You know, like, it’s not like we were in a compromising position.”

“Being near you in a state of undress is a compromising position, Harry. Those pictures are going to be printed and inside every magazine, spread across the Internet like wildfire. People will be tweeting me those pictures for years, Harry. Do you understand that? I’ll be seeing the image of us together forever, probably.”

“It’s bad, I know it is,” Harry says, trying to keep his tone soothing. “No one wants to deal with this, I know that. It’s not just your picture that will be spread, mine as well, but it’s not the end of the world. You’ll be slammed with them for a couple weeks and beyond that, it’s just sad, pathetic people that have nothing better to do with their time.”

“Did you call them?” Zayn asks, ignoring everything Harry said, as he stomps back towards Harry’s bedroom, glaring over his shoulder when Harry doesn't’ answer right away. “Did you tell them that I was here?”

“What the fuck, Zayn. No, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Then how did they know?” Zayn shouts, throwing the sheet on the floor as he scrambles to get dressed. He can’t find his clothes from the day before, so Harry watches as he yanks open his drawers, digging around through them for clothes. “You’re the only person-“ Zayn cuts himself off, turning to stare at Harry. “It was your roommate, that—that guy who walked in on me while I was taking a bath.”

Harry wants to say that Nick would never do that, but he’s not sure. He’s never actually been in the position where Nick would tell the entire world something that Harry did and they’d care, so he never thought to test him and find out.

“I came here to get away from photographers, to avoid all of this bullshit and now you’ve made it worse for me, Harry. You’ve royally fucked it all up,” he spits out, shaking his head as he steps into a pair of Harry’s underwear. “There are going to be headlines for days, misconstruing this and Perrie’s interview. Everyone is going to go off and accuse me of being some cheating, sex crazed piece of shit.”

“Perrie told them that you’re not together anymore, no one is going to assume anything.”

“Oh come off it, Harry. Do you really think that someone like me is going to get a clean break from a headline like this? I’m not some pretty little white boy like you, they’re not going to give a damn about slandering my name and ruining my reputation, they’ve been trying to do it for years.”

“Exactly,” Harry says, trying to refrain from shouting. “Trying. They’ve been trying, that’s the keyword there. They try to make you seem like an awful person but you’re still here, people still love you. Yeah, you get bad press. Yeah, most of it, I don’t know the entirety of your press, so I can’t say all, but most of it is unwarranted, because of their own prejudices or whatever makes them decide to write a shitty article about you. But you’re still here. Your career is thriving. You’re healthy, happy, and the people who love you, they’re also still here, supporting you. And not even just them, but there are millions of strangers around the world who wake up with the knowledge that they can do anything they set their mind to, just because you exist. So if some fat, balding fuck wants to write an article about you, then they’re going to write it. Whether you’re photographed with me, or photographed walking down the street.”

Zayn shakes his head, tongue pressing against the inside of his bottom lip. “You know, Harry. You just don’t get it.”

“No, maybe I don’t. Maybe I never will,” Harry sighs, shrugging a shoulder. “But nothing is going to be solved with your freaking out, so how about we just take a deep breath, calm down. We can get some food in you and then you call whomever you need to call. I promise that it’ll be alright.”

“It’s easy for you to stay calm, isn’t it, Harry? You don’t have to do anything and people will be raving about you, talking about how lucky you were to fuck me.”

“You fucked me,” Harry corrects, flinching when Zayn shouts out at that.

“I don’t care,” Zayn tells him, voice far louder than it needs to be. “By this evening, people will be praising you. The press will have found out your name, and everyone will be talking about you. Harry Styles, the first guy known to be fucked by Zayn Malik. You’ve got nothing to lose and so much to gain from selling me out to the press.”

Harry wants to say that he’d lose him. He’d lose Zayn if he did that, and that’s not worth anything in the world he could gain, money, fame, nothing. None of it means more than having Zayn. But he doesn’t say that, of course he doesn’t.

“Zayn, you’re acting crazy,” Harry breathes out, shaking his head, because he thought- Harry thought that Zayn knew him a little bit better than that. Harry thought that Zayn would understand Harry isn’t the kind of person to sell a story to a magazine. If he was, he would have called them by now, sold the story about going out to dinner with Zayn and coming back to his hotel room while Perrie was in town. But Harry has no desire to do that, no desire to be the person that betrays Zayn in that way.

“I’m acting crazy,” Zayn says, shoving past Harry, fully dressed now and heading towards Harry’s door. “Forgive me if I’m not acting up to your standards, but I was literally woken up completely naked to a bunch of photographers snapping pictures of me with some guy that I’ve never been seen with a day in my life. Forgive me if I’m being, as you said, crazy.”

“They’re just pictures.”

“To you. They’re just pictures to you,” Zayn clarifies, lacing up his boots. “To me, however, they’re little ghosts that are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. My name will forever be attached to those images. If someone wants to read about my recent film, those pictures will be associated with it. Not only am I, as a person, forever attached to those pictures, but so is my career.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t think about it that way,” Harry mumbles, biting down on his bottom lip. “But that doesn’t change things, you’re still, you know, acting kind of, um, silly about this. Like, you’re lashing out on me. I haven’t done anything, but there are perfectly good photographers out there that I’m sure are waiting to hear from you.”

Zayn shakes his head, standing up slowly and walking towards Harry. It’s the closest they’ve been since Harry woke up and he wants to reach out, wrap his arms around Zayn’s slim waist and pull him close, wants to press his face into Zayn’s hair and promise him that everything will be okay, because it will be. In the grand scheme of things, if they were lay out world problems down on the table, these photographs are nothing. They’re not even close to the end of the spectrum. They’re just silly little pictures.

“These pictures aren’t going anywhere, Harry. I’m not going to give them even more, I’m not going to let them make me regret this even more.”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat, folding his arms over his chest, trying to protect his heart from Zayn’s words. “Right,” he says to Zayn, licking his lips.

Something flashes across Zayn’s features, something that looks like regret and Harry feels as his heart tightens, his stomach knotting.

“Well, I’ll feel the opposite,” Harry says, Zayn’s hand on the doorknob. “I’ll always remember this and I’ll always be happy that you came to stay with me, that you sought comfort in me, and that you trusted me enough to be with me, fully. I’ll always remember it, and I’ll always be happy for these memories, even with the pictures.”

Zayn gives him one last look, his eyes raking over Harry’s body before he yanks the door open, slamming it closed behind him. Harry stares at it, listens to the roar of the photographers’ voices as they start bombarding Zayn with questions.

There’s an ache in the area where Harry’s heart used to be, right under his ribs.

\/\/\/\/\/

As Harry walks through the halls of school, he can’t help but feel like every pair of eyes he passes follow him. They’re watching him, gawking at him like he’s a piece of meat and they’re hungry lions, ready to pounce on him. It’s an odd sort of thing, because normally, Harry walks through the halls with not so much as a glance spared in his direction, unless someone bumps into him. And even then it’s a fleeting second, the person shouting an apology over their shoulder as they rush off to class.

But now, it’s the opposite. It makes his skin crawl. He wants to run home, lock himself away and forget that he ever enrolled in university, because they’ve obviously all seen the pictures of him and Zayn. And knowing that, that people are staring at him over a violation of Zayn’s privacy, it makes him want to lash out, like he’s the lion now, fighting to protect those that are most important to him.

When he gets to work, it’s better. The animals don’t treat him any differently. Misty still ignores him as she chases the bigger dogs when he takes them out for playtime. Harvey still rubs against his legs until Harry pets him, and it’s impossible to frown when you’re petting an animal, it’s scientifically proven, he thinks.

But it really only works for so long, because as he feeds the animals he remembers that first day with Zayn, as he plays with the kittens he remembers when Zayn went to dinner with his friends. It makes his stomach ache in the worst sort of way, because it’s an ache he can’t fix.

Caroline shows up two hours into Harry’s shift, as he’s slumped against the counter, miserable all over, but mostly in his chest. It still hurts there, the holes that Zayn put through his heart. They hurt. They ache. It feels like someone is sitting down on his chest at times, robbing him of his air supply.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caroline asks, running her fingers through Harry’s hair. It’s helping, a bit. Harry shakes his head. “Alright, but it might help.”

“Everyone has been staring at me, even the people that I don’t know.”

Caroline sighs, patting him on the shoulder with the hand not tangled in his curls. “Yeah, sometimes that happens when your face is plastered on a magazine cover. People stare.”

“What all do you know about it?” Harry asks, standing up properly so that he can look at Caroline fully. “Like, what are they saying?”

She looks at Harry, eyes narrowed before she sighs, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She unlocks it and types something before she hands the phone over to Harry.

He doesn’t read the article attached, just sees the headline ZAYN MALIK’S SECRET GAY LOVER, and Harry groans, handing the phone back.

“There are others,” she tells him, setting her phone down on the counter. “That one was the least crude. I saw it this morning, when I woke up. I was going to call you, but I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it, but seeing you now,” she sighs, shaking her head, “I think you need to talk, love.”

“I’m not his secret gay lover,” Harry tells her, biting down on his lip. “It wasn’t like—I’ve known him for a while, is the thing. He came into the shop one day-“ Caroline raises an eyebrow at him, obviously using all of her self control to not demand answers about where she was and why she wasn’t notified. “And then we talked for a bit, nothing groundbreaking, but I ran into him again after my shift. Literally. I literally ran into him, spilled a drink down the front of his shirt.”

He tells her the story, all of it. And as he tells it, he feels like a weight is being not lifted, but chipped away at his shoulders. Caroline nods in all the right places, holds onto his hand when Harry starts to stammer through his words, trying not to get emotional.

“And then he told me that he’d regret it, he’d regret me.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant, love,” she says, hand rubbing his shoulder soothingly, trying to stop Harry from crying, because he might, if he remembers the flicks of anger in Zayn’s eyes, the snarl in his voice, and the cruel words he spoke before he walked out of Harry’s life. “He was upset, but he doesn’t regret you.”

“And what if he does?” Harry asks, looking at Caroline through his lashes. “What if I gave him a piece of my heart and he crushed it? What if he really does wish meeting me never happened?”

“Then he’s a fool,” Caroline says, nodding firmly. “You’re an amazing person, and no one would regret meeting you, Harry Styles. And if Zayn Malik wants to be the only one, then forget him. He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees weakly, trying to smile. He doesn’t feel like Zayn’s the fool, he feels like he is, for thinking that he stood a chance.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry takes the second half of Caroline’s shift from her, promising that he’ll be fine on his own. She looks skeptical, but she hugs him tightly before she leaves, and whispers in his ear that she loves him, and that he can call her if he needs her. And even though he promises that he will, he doesn’t mean it. Even Caroline knows that, with the sad smile she gives him before she walks out of the door, bell ringing in her wake.

It’s not Harry’s smartest decision, being alone at work when his picture is circulating around the world, attaching him intimately to Zayn, but Harry doesn’t want to go home.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Harry says, opening the cage where the kittens are. “Good things came the last time that I told you guys my problems, so maybe we should try it again?”

One of the kittens bounds forward, head rubbing against Harry’s outstretched hand, encouraging him to keep going.

“Zayn’s angry with me,” he says, biting down on his lip. “A little more than angry, actually. I think that he might hate me now. I don’t blame him, even though it wasn’t entirely my fault. But he blames me, he blames Nick mostly, I think.”

The kitten meows and Harry nods, lifting the ginger tabby out of the cage so he can hold him properly. “I can’t tell if you’re Titan or Cosmo,” he says, holding the kitten close. “Not that it matters, and no, I don’t blame Nick. I blame the paparazzi, or whoever was standing outside that took our picture. I should blame Nick.”

The kitten’s eyes blink up at him, chest rumbling at the intensity of his purr and Harry smiles in spite of the black hole in his chest. “Cosmo,” he says knowingly, because only Cosmo would purr so fiercely. “Well, I’m glad that it’s you with me, buddy. You’re much better at cheering me up, aren’t you?”

Cosmo nips at his finger when Harry stops petting him, biting down on his thumb until Harry starts scratching again, sighing.

“I think Zayn broke my heart,” he says quietly. “It would have been one thing if he had just left, walked out the door and forgotten about me. It’s another thing entirely to hear that someone regrets you, that they wish their time with you would have never happened, like there’s an editing button on your life and he’d chose the delete button. Not on all of it, just on me.”

Cosmo meows at him, his paw lifting to rest on Harry’s chest.

“Yeah, I think he meant it. He looked fierce, and angry. I’ve never seen him like that, that raw. Not even in his movies.” There was something about it, something about the intensity of Zayn’s gaze that assured Harry that he had been serious, that Zayn had meant every word that spilled from between his lips. “I don’t think I’m ever going to see him, except for images of him, recordings of him. They’ll always be there, but Zayn won’t be.”

Harry looks down at Cosmo and continues scratching behind his ear, fingers carding through short orange fur. He feels like his mind is playing tricks on him, images of Zayn smiling with him, kissing him, interweaving their way into the memory of Zayn staring at him, eyes blazing with anger. There’s a permanent throb in his chest, in the same area where he feels hollow, like something’s missing. Everything inside of him hurts and aches, from his chest down to his toes, pumping through his heart and filtering out through his veins to spread into the deepest parts of Harry’s body, places that shouldn’t hurt.

Cosmo meows at him, almost like he can sense the emotions inside of Harry and Harry sighs, pulling the kitten away from his chest so he can look at him properly.

“I don’t think talking to you has helped this time, Cosmo,” Harry whispers, rubbing his nose against the kitten’s cheek.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry’s at home, legs propped on his table as he watches television, flipping through the channels, hoping to find something worthwhile. He’s debating between a cooking program and a movie, an old black and white, when his front door opens, slamming shut.

He expects it to be Nick, but it’s Niall and he raises an eyebrow at the sight of him, because he wasn’t expecting him, for one thing, and they weren’t exactly the type of people to burst into each other’s houses unannounced, unless something happened. Harry sits up a little straighter, muting the television and looking at Niall worriedly.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, trying to look at Niall’s body for obvious signs of trauma. There’s nothing that he can see and that only makes his stomach knot with worry.

“You look like absolute shit, mate,” Niall tells him, plopping down on the couch next to him. “Louis told us that he was worried you weren’t showering, but I didn’t think he was right.” He picks at a bit of Harry’s hair and Harry frowns, swatting his hand away.

“Is that why you’re here? To see if I’ve showered? Because I’ll have you know that I have, I’ve just been a bit busy, is all, so I haven’t had enough time to get new shampoo.” It’s a lie. Harry hasn’t properly bathed in anything besides purple bath bombs in the last four days. He smells alright, but even he’s aware of the state of his hair, how awful it looks.

“No,” Niall says, shaking his head. He rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Like I care if you shower.”

“Louis apparently does.”

“Louis worries about things that are none of his business all the time, I’m not sure why you’re surprised.” Harry shrugs, because that’s true. “And anyway, I came to see if you were alright. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry lies, nodding. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Right,” Niall mumbles, nodding. “So like, Nick was just taking the piss when he told Louis that you’ve already drank through the wine you’ve got stashed, and that you’re not showering, which we’ve already established to be true. He said some other things, but I think you get what I’m saying.”

“Nick’s an idiot that’s just trying to start drama, you know how he is. He loves winding Louis up.”

“Yeah, and you know that Louis would hit him in his mouth if he lied about how you’re doing, after what happened.”

Harry sighs. He hates his friends, not really, but he wishes that he could get away with being heartbroken without them wanting to save him, to fix him. Harry is fine; he really is…a little bit. Rome wasn’t built in a day, so Harry doesn’t have to get over Zayn that quickly, he can marinate in his own pity for as long as he likes.

“I’ll be fine, Niall,” Harry mutters, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “It’s only been a couple weeks, it’s hard to forget about someone when you see their face everywhere you go.”

“And it’s even harder when you haven’t talked it out with them properly,” Niall adds, lifting his hand like he wants to run his fingers through Harry’s hair soothingly, but he stops halfway, frowning at the top of Harry’s head, and drops and his hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly.

“We talked about it. Or well, kind of. He definitely yelled about it.”

“And that was when emotions were high. It was right after it happened,” Niall says. “Neither of you had a chance to process the information, so the conversation now might be a bit different, don’t you think?”

“Who knows,” Harry mumbles, picking at the seam of his boxers, the fraying edges of the waistband. “I don’t even have a way to talk to him, anyway, so it doesn’t matter. It is what it is.”

“You don’t, but I do,” Niall says and Harry’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with question. “It took me forever, but I managed to get the number of his manager, his personal number, not his professional one.”

“Why did you do that?” Harry asks, looking at him, watching as Niall pulls a piece of folded paper out of his pocket.

“I knew that you and Zayn needed to talk about things, you couldn’t just leave it where it was. I tried getting through to them, but they’ve blocked my number,” Niall admits, forcing a laugh out of Harry. “I tried, but now it’s your turn to try, ya know? I think that if you told them your name, they’d know you’re the boy from the articles and they’d connect you to Zayn, somehow.”

Harry takes a deep breath, taking the piece of paper from Niall. He turns it around in his hands, fingers tracing the faint blue lines printed on it. Harry sighs, dropping his feet on the floor so that he can set the paper down. He can’t open it, not yet. If he opens it then he’ll do something stupid, like actually call Zayn. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to put Zayn in that position. And while Harry wasn’t above begging to suck Zayn’s dick, he’s definitely above begging Zayn to not regret him.

“Thanks, Ni,” Harry says, smiling. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Niall nods, snatching the remote away from Harry. “How about you take a shower, then we’ll make some popcorn and watch a movie. I don’t think I can pay attention to a film knowing that your hair might crawl off your head. I think I see something living inside of it.”

Harry laughs, swatting at Niall’s hand. “Alright, diva. I’ll go shower, but you better not start the movie without me.” He smiles as he leaves the room, watching as Niall waves him off before kicking off his shoes and lying back on Harry’s couch.

Inside the shower, Harry rests his head against the wall and breathes, his eyes squeezed shut tightly, because he needs a moment. Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself. Harry will watch a movie with Niall and tonight, after he’s gone, he’ll catch up on his assignments, catch up with his class readings, and he’ll continue on with his life.

\/\/\/\/\/

“Before we start dinner, there’s something that I want to announce to everyone,” Liam says, trying his best to catch everyone’s attention. Harry looks at him, letting him know that he’s listening even if he is still dumping spaghetti by the mounds on his plate.

“Well get on with it,” Niall says, huffing impatiently. “I skipped lunch and ate a piece of toast for breakfast, I can practically feel my stomach shriveling up.”

“Mine too,” Harry adds, passing the spaghetti to Niall. He shrugs when Louis glares at him, because it’s not his fault that he dropped his sandwich on the floor and couldn’t eat at lunchtime.

“Right. Well, instead of waiting until we’ve finished, I just wanted to let everyone know that I’ve been fired,” Liam says, motioning with his hands in a ‘what can you do about it’ gesture.

“They can’t fire you, you’re a volunteer,” Niall says unhelpfully and Harry flicks him on the head. “Ow, it’s the truth.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Did they tell you why?”

“Probably because they didn’t want you, right?” Nick says and Harry turns to glare at him, because he invited him so that Nick could get out of the house for the night, not so he could be an insensitive twat.

“You’re free to leave,” Louis tells him, glaring at Nick from across the table. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“Anyway, can you tell us what happened, Liam?” Harry asks, ending the fight before it can begin. He doesn’t care to listen to Nick and Louis when Liam has something going on.

“Not directly, no. But, if I had to guess, I’d assume that it’s because I’m the longest running volunteer that they’ve had, the only one not really promoted, I guess, into a full time position.”

“So what are you going to do?” Harry asks.

“Well, this is where the good news comes in,” Liam says, grinning as he takes Louis’ hand on top of the table. “My boss put in a good word for me at another station, one that was actually in need of new fire fighter.”

“And they hired, Liam,” Louis shouts, smiling like he can’t control himself, because he’s just so happy for Liam. And so is Harry, he knows how hard Liam has been working and how long he’s wanted this. He can’t blame either of them for not wanting to wait.

“That’s amazing, Liam,” Harry says, reaching across the table to bump his fist against Liam’s.

“Yeah, congratulations,” Niall says, “I can’t believe it. Finally.”

“I know, yeah. It’s been a long time coming, I think.”

Harry nods his head in agreement, lifting up his fork because now that Liam has given his news, Harry can finally dive into his meal and enjoy it properly, and happily, knowing that his best friend finally got a job doing what he’s always wanted to do.

“Well, I guess I should share my good news now as well,” Niall says and Harry drops his fork, because who knows when he’ll eat now.

“And what good news is that?” Louis asks, no longer holding Liam’s hand, his fingers now stroking at the soft hairs on the back of Liam’s neck.

Niall sighs and sits up a little straighter, placing a hand on his heart. “I don’t want to jinx anything, but I am currently—well, not currently since I’m with you guys. But anyway, I’m currently on date number four with a girl that I met at work.”

“Oh, I think that’s a record, Nialler,” Louis says, grinning at him. “I’m proud of you.”

“What’s she like?” Nick asks and that’s appropriate, that’s the kind of things he should be saying, Harry thinks.

“She’s great. I mean, I’m still getting to know her, but like, real cute, kind of short, long brown hair that’s really curly. I don’t know,” Niall says, shrugging. He’s never been great at giving details when people really want them, especially when it comes to girls that he fancies. “She’s great. I like her.”

“I’m happy for you,” Harry says, ruffling his hair a bit. And he genuinely means it. All of his friends are happy; all of their lives are improving and going off in the direction that they want. Niall has finally landed what could potentially be a girlfriend, Liam has gotten his dream job, and Louis gets to watch the boy he loves live out his dream.

It’s amazing. And he’s happy for them. Even if his own life hasn’t really gone anywhere since the last time he saw Zayn, more than a month ago, not like he’s been counting. He hasn’t. It’s just your normal keeping track of the date. Plus, it’s kind of hard not to remember the last time you saw someone you really care about. He can remember how long it’s been since he’s seen his mother and his sister, so really, Zayn’s no different.

It’s been a little over a month – nearly two months, if he wants to get specific – and while he’s still not really over what happened, he’s moving on. Kind of. He’s getting better, at least. He no longer wallows in his own misery; he keeps up to date with his classes, with his job, with his showers. Harry even called Caroline on the days when he felt particularly awful and let her talk him out of it.

He’s doing much better, he thinks. And if Zayn walked through the door right now, he wouldn't give a damn.

“I’ve decided that I’m done being mopey about Zayn,” Harry announces, because he should tell the world. It’s a bit random, the conversations around him have gone off in their own directions as everyone settles into their meal, but Harry is fine. Niall and Liam got to make an announcement, so can Harry. “I no longer give a shit about Zayn Malik and I’m completely over him.”

“Well, we would hope so, it’s been a month,” Niall teases, winking at Harry as he claps a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I’m being serious,” Harry says, nodding firmly. “It was fun while it lasted, but he no longer has any of my heart, not even little crumb sized pieces.”

“Well,” Liam says, glancing around the table slowly, “I think that’s great.”

“Really excellent,” Nick adds, clapping him on the back. “And I’ve finally got a slot at a radio station. It’s only for a few hours a couple nights a week, but. I got one, so that’s my news for the night.”

As everyone congratulates Nick, Harry looks over at Louis who is studying him carefully and thoughtfully, like he doesn’t really believe Harry. He leans over, hand unwrapping from around Liam’s shoulder as he moves.

“So you’re really over Zayn?” Louis whispers quietly so the rest of the table can’t hear him, which they can’t, they’re all too busy chatting about their new jobs and new loves.

“Of course I am.”

Louis’ eyes narrow as he looks at Harry, and Harry tries his best to sit up a little straighter, trying to look like he even believes himself. He might not be fully over Zayn, but he’s not going to be a mopey baby about it anymore.

“Right. Well, if you don’t give a damn about him-“

“No. I don’t.”

“Then you won’t care that he’s back in town, working on a new movie and I have the address for it,” Louis says, a knowing grin on his face as Harry pales, rubbing his face.

“Oh god. Oh no,” Harry groans, leaning back in his chair. It’s nearly impossible to get over someone when you know where they are. He was much happier when he had no idea, when he thought that Zayn might be in India or something, anywhere but near Harry. He’s not allowed near him. “Oh shit.”

“I didn’t think you were over him,” Louis says, lifting up his glass of wine to take a drink from it. Harry tries not to slap it out of his hand and make him spill it all down his front, it’d probably land on Liam anyway and then Harry would feel bad. He doesn’t want to spill wine on Liam, Liam didn’t question him, he wants to spill it on Louis, and then, maybe, if he’s lucky, he wants to drink the entire bottle and make Nick carry him home.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry waits all of two days before he demands the address from Louis and finds it. It’s really all the will power that he has, which is saying something, he’s sure.

The address that Louis gave him leads him to what appears to be a warehouse, or what looks like a warehouse. It’s plain looking building, and Harry wouldn’t pay it the least bit of attention on a normal day. He would walk right by and assume it was a factory of some sort, but today he actually takes a moment to stop outside the gates, staring up at the brown façade. There are people running about, moving different bits of equipment from one location to another. There are even trailers lined up on the far side, like the ones he’s heard about, places where the actors go between sets to relax, or to get their hair and make up done. Harry squints his eyes, because maybe if he tries hard enough he can find the one for Zayn, and if he does, then maybe he can walk the circumference of the fence until he’s right behind it, and then he can scale the fence and sneak into Zayn’s dressing room. It’s a risk, obviously, but it could work.

“Hey, can I help you?” Someone shouts and Harry tears his eyes away from the trailers to look at the burly man in front of him, his bulging biceps and stern stare.

“Yeah, I um. I’m looking for Zayn. Zayn Malik,” Harry says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“And who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Harry. I’m a friend of his,” Harry says, biting down on his lip. He’s not sure if he can be classified as a friend, but it’s better than saying something like ‘I’m the boy that was papped as being his gay lover, and I’d really like to see him again.’

“Everyone is a friend of his,” the guard says, rolling his eyes. “Unless you have a pass, I’m afraid you’re not getting in here, sorry.”

“No. I really am a friend,” Harry assures him, nodding his head. “I’m not someone crazy. Like, I’m not a stalker of his. Although, it doesn’t look the best showing up at where he’s working unannounced, but like. I am a friend.”

“Sir, I can’t let you in here,” the guard says again, and he looks bored, like this is the hundredth time today he’s had to turn someone away.

Harry nods, rocking back on his heels. An idea comes to him, one that makes him smirk as he looks at the guard. “Right, but what if I wanted to see Superman?”

“What?” The guard asks, looking at Harry like he’s grown another head. That’s fine, Harry’s played this game before.

“Batman.”

“Sir, you need to leave.”

“Captain America?”

“Sir, you have ten seconds to get out of here before I call the police,” the guard says, glaring at Harry. And Harry sighs, nodding his head. The names were worth a shot, it worked at the hotel, but Harry suspects that maybe Zayn doesn’t need an alias on set.

“No, no, he’s fine,” someone shouts, and Harry turns his head to see Zayn jogging towards the gate. “He doesn’t need to leave.”

“Of course,” the guard says, pulling the gate open to allow Harry entry. Harry wants to stick his tongue out at him, tell him that he told him he’d be allowed inside, that he really was a friend of Zayn’s and not his stalker, but instead he smiles, because the guard was just doing his job.

Zayn stares at Harry when he’s finally through the gate, almost like he’s breathing in the sight of him. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, eyes scanning from Harry’s toes to the ends of his hair, blowing wildly in the wind. Zayn looks like he’s in awe, like he can’t believe that Harry is standing in front of him. Harry’s sure that his face mimics the same, he knows that his eyes are probably wide, taking in Zayn’s tattered clothing and messy hair. Hair that doesn’t look the same as it once was, not like before.

“You cut your hair,” Harry says, eyes trailing over the shaved sides. He wants to run his fingers over it to see if it feels as soft as it looks, like the felted tips of a rabbit’s ear. It’s still long, though, not like Harry’s, but right on top, tied tightly in a knot.

“Yeah,” Zayn says breathlessly, moving like he’s going to run his fingers through it, until he remembers that he doesn’t have enough hair for that, so he drops his hands at his sides, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Thought I needed a change now that I’m a properly out man.”

Harry can’t tell if he’s happy about that last part, or if he’s making an ever-so-subtle hint at why he hasn’t seen Harry in so long. But that can’t be, because it wasn’t Harry that told the world, it was Perrie. Maybe Harry helped confirm it, but it’s still not his fault.

“Zayn, breaks over,” someone shouts and Harry frowns, because he didn’t come here just to see Zayn. He wanted—He’s not sure what he wanted.

Zayn releases a lungful of air, and nods, turning around to motion to the man that he’ll be there in a second. He turns back to Harry and says, “Please stay. Okay? Don’t leave, we need to talk.”

Harry nods and smiles, because does he have to go? Zayn seems satisfied and walks off, turning back once as he walks away to make sure Harry’s still there. And when he’s out of eyesight, Harry releases a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair.

“You can go inside,” the guard says to Harry, watching him closely. “You don’t have to wait here.”

“Right, thanks,” Harry says, smiling. He gives him a nod before he walks off, heading towards the building that Zayn disappeared inside of.

It’s much smaller inside than it is outside, divided up into different sections made to look like the interiors of different places. Harry walks along the edge of the building, mindful of the fact that there are people here working. People who have jobs to do, but he still wants to look. He can’t tell what they’re filming, other than there is a scene set in a hotel, another in a bedroom, and in what appears to be an office, Harry’s not sure. He’s never been on a movie set before. He doesn’t know how filming works.

There’s a table full of snacks in the corner, and Harry glances around to make sure no one is watching as he sneaks a donut. He chews on it idly, wishing that he could pull his phone out and send Niall a message, one that showed off the inside of the studio and the different sets. And he’s trying really hard not to pay attention to the other actors, but maybe he could sneak a few pictures of Zayn. Then he can send them to Louis and Liam, as well, show them that-

Okay. Maybe he won’t send any of them pictures. All a picture would do is show them that he really isn’t over Zayn. And he is. He totally is. The only reason he’s here is unfinished business.

God, Harry sighs, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his donut. He’s hardly fooling anyone, not even himself.

Two more people approach the table and Harry steps away, giving them access to the food, even though he has his eye on another donut. One with pink icing and rainbow sprinkles. One of them, a woman with blonde hair, smiles at Harry before she turns to the other and says, “So what do you think so far? Is it what you thought it would be?”

The second girl shrugs, flipping her long black hair out of her face. “Not really. I mean, the filming is just like any other, but it is a bit bizarre to watch Zayn and Avan kiss as much as they have, but.” She shrugs and Harry tries not to act like he’s listening, but he knows that name. He knows an Avan, if only he could-

Harry gasps. “That’s the guy with the hair, right?” He says, interrupting the first girl from answering. “The one with them, um—like me. Right? Does his hair look like mine?”

“Long?” The blonde says, bored. “Yeah. He’s the one with the long hair, not shaved on the sides.”

If Avan is a boy, the one Harry has in mind, then that means—

“Is this the film about the uh, two guys. The,” He stammers as he tries to recall the conversation he had in his living room with Zayn, fingers in his hair. He can see it, the image of Zayn in his clothes on his couth, he’s replayed it a thousand times in his head, but it’s not—god, he’s replayed this day a million different times in his head, trying to savor it, trying to brand it to his memory so he couldn’t forget. And now— It’s like he can’t breathe. “Prostitutes. It’s about prostitutes; one of them is in love with the other. Right? Two guys?

The girls’ exchange glances, and Harry’s eyes widen impatiently, staring at them with his foot tapping against the cement ground. Finally one of them turns to him and says, “Should you even be here?”

Harry takes that as a yes, the closest one that he’s ever going to get. And it’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs because that’s the movie Harry told Zayn to pick; it’s the one he wanted him to act in. It’s the film that Zayn didn’t want to be in, but he’s in. And a part of Harry, a stupidly optimistic – and possibly romantic – part of Harry hopes that this is a sign. Because if Zayn was really angry with Harry, was truly over Harry, he would have never done this.

Harry can feel that, deep down in his toes.

He’s sure of it.

But he has to know. He has to.

“Thank you so much,” Harry tells the girls because thanks to them, he knows. God, he doesn’t even have to pretend to be over Zayn, he thinks, tossing his donut away before he rushes off. He has to find Zayn, needs to find him because he can’t wait. He just can’t, it’s been nearly two months of waiting and Harry isn’t going to—

“Who was that guy you were talking to outside?” He hears someone say, the voice a little rough around the edges.

But the voice that replies, that’s Zayn’s and it stops Harry in his tracks. “Which guy?”

“Long hair, tall-ish. Tight pants,” the other voice says.

“It’s no one,” Zayn says, brushing it off and Harry frowns, biting down on his lip. “Just someone from the area, it’s an uncomfortable situation. I don’t even know what he’s doing here.”

Right.

Harry swallows, blinking not more than once before he takes off, heading towards the exit. He’s not going to stay. He’s not going to stay and listen to whatever uncomfortable bullshit that Zayn is going to throw at him.

He had thought—

It doesn’t matter what he thought.

Harry waves at the guard as he leaves, trying to keep his breathing steady.

\/\/\/\/\/

“Who wants to go first?” Harry asks, dragging the bag of dog food out of the corner. All the dogs bark in response, tails wagging. “Ladies first, Misty? Alright.”

Feeding the dogs, it’s tedious, and Harry can do it without thinking about it, or anything else for that matter. That’s what he wants, for his brain to stop looping the conversation he heard hours ago. He wants to feed Misty without getting nipped, and then he wants to drag the bag of food down a crate, and feed Dudley.

After he’s fed all the dogs, he wants to walk into the back and take care of inventory, give Caroline a break from it, let her flip magazines idly behind the counter.

When he offered, Caroline had only raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, waiting for the catch, but there was none. Harry just wanted to get back to his life. That’s all he wants.

“Harry, there’s a customer here that needs your help.”

Harry sighs, dropping the cup in the bag so he can stand up properly to look at Caroline. “Can you take care of it? Please. I’m not even half through with this.”

“I wish that I could help them,” Caroline says. “I want to be able to help them. But I’m afraid you’ll have to take this one. I’ll feed the dogs, I’ve already done the kittens, what’s more kibble scent on my fingers?”

“Alright, yeah,” Harry sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “When I’m finished, I’m going to the back.”

Caroline smiles at him, her hand catching his wrist as he walks out. He gives her a strange look, frowning as he walks out of the little room and she closes the door behind him.

“You left.”

Harry’s attention snaps away from Caroline and towards Zayn, eyes wide as he takes him in. His hair is down now, draping over one side instead of slicked back and tied up. Harry has to bite down on the inside of his cheek when he realizes that Zayn’s wearing his shirt, the one he wore when he took off from Harry’s place.

It’s not fair. Zayn doesn’t get to talk about him like he’s no one and then wear his clothes. It’s not—

Harry sucks in a lungful of air, releasing it slowly. “Yeah, I did,” he says, when he’s absolutely positive that he’s not going to scream or run off.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Zayn says, moving his hands into his pockets. They catch first, on his fingers, and it takes him three tries before he’s able to slide the second hand in. Harry is painfully reminded of the day that Zayn showed up, right before he met Harry’s friends, when he did the same thing, standing in the same place.

“Yeah, sorry. I um, needed to be somewhere.”

“Right,” Zayn mumbles, nodding. “It’s been a while, yeah? How’ve you been?”

“I wake up every morning to make Nick breakfast, go to school, come to work, study. Sometimes I see my friends, I’m sure you remember them,” Harry says, watching as Zayn nods, “Yeah, so I guess you could say I’m alright.”

“Alright,” Zayn repeats quietly.

“Not as well as it seems you’ve been doing, though,” Harry says, because of course he’s kept tabs on Zayn every chance that he could, every time he knew Zayn would be on the television. Of-fucking-course he was talking out of his ass when he said that he wasn’t every time anyone asked. “I’ve seen you on all the red carpets, film premieres, award shows, everything. Congrats, by the way. On the—what was it, the Grammy?”

The corner of Zayn’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Grammy’s are for music.”

“Right, yeah. Well, whatever it was. Congrats.”

Zayn sighs, looking at Harry a little sadly and it makes Harry want to hug him, to wrap his arms around him, but he’s not going anywhere, not after today. “You know all that is bullshit, right? It means absolutely nothing.”

“It’s a big achievement, to win. I wouldn’t say that’s nothing.”

“Right, it is, but that has no correlation to how I’ve been,” Zayn says, fierce and strong. “I wanted to call you, you know. The night I won. The moment I left, even. All the days in between. This morning.”

“Why would you want to call me?” Harry asks, because it sounds a lot better than ‘you made it perfectly clear that was never going to happen.’ He hurts, but he doesn’t want to hurt Zayn.

“The way I acted that day, when the paps took our pictures. I was so out of line,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “God, it’s embarrassing how horribly I handled that, how awfully I treated you. It was never your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; not your creepy roommate’s, not yours, and not mine. I knew that.”

“But?”

“I didn’t know how to apologize to you, because I was ashamed of myself. It’s hard, having to deal with the paparazzi. And I went to you because I thought, or well, I had hoped, I’d be safe there until I got my head together. I mean, I just needed time, space to breathe before I talked to anyone,” Zayn sighs, pulling one of his hands from his pockets to run his fingers through his hair, messing it up beautifully. “When the paps showed up, it just—I was angry at myself, mostly, but I took it out on you. And for some reason, I couldn’t figure out how to say sorry.”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, nodding his head. He thinks that he gets it, hell, he’s always understood the root of Zayn’s anger, and deep down he did. And it’s like Zayn said that day, Harry doesn’t get it, he’ll never understand what it’s like to have millions of people around the world wanting a piece of him, he’ll never understand what it’s like to be stalked by middle aged men with cameras, waiting for his next scandal. And because he doesn’t get it, it makes it easier to believe Zayn, to see that it’s frustrating and ugly and even the best of people would snap because of it.

Harry gets it. But there’s still a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, not because of the paparazzi pictures, but because

“You told that guy today you didn’t know why I was there. You made it soundlike you didn’t want me there, like I was dumb for trying to reach out to you,” Harry says, because he can understand the anger, but he can’t understand shame. “Why?”

Zayn looks at him for a brief moment, like he’s trying to figure out what Harry’s talking about before he laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t expect me to pour my heart out to some guy, right? Not when everywhere I’ve gone for the last two months people have asked me about you,” Zayn tells him and oh. Harry didn’t know that part. “Avan knew exactly who you were, he just wanted information. And I wasn’t going to give him any. I told you, my life is for me, not for the world.”

Harry nods. “I get that, yeah.”

“I said that to protect you, not to hurt you. And I’m sorry if it did.”

“It’s alright,” Harry shrugs.

“You know, besides wanting to apologize, I wanted to talk to you about something, because I’ve been thinking about it for the past two months, it’s why I wanted to call you every minute of everyday.”

“And what’s that?” Harry asks, looking at Zayn intently. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Right,” Zayn mutters, nodding once as he releases a deep breath. “The thing is, if you’d be willing. Um, you know. If you’d be willing to have me, then I’d like to stay and start over. Not over completely, but you know, maybe I could get you to like me again, because the thing is.” Zayn pauses and Harry can see from where he is that Zayn’s hands are shaking and if he pays close enough attention, he can see Caroline trying to pretend that she’s not watching them through the glass, dog food forgotten at her feet.

“The thing is,” Zayn starts again, standing up a little straighter. “Being with you feels like falling in love, in every sense of the word. Like floating through a dark blue sky. I can’t explain it, but I just. If you’d have me, then I’d never leave, because I’d like to give this a shot. Us. Give us a shot.”

Harry’s lungs feel heavy, his heart hammering away in his chest. Zayn’s looking at him, and he looks so earnest, so vulnerable, and so sincere that it makes Harry’s chest ache even more.

“Can I say no?” Harry asks, his voice quiet as he watches Zayn’s face fall. It picks up almost immediately, and he tries to smile as he nods.

“Yeah. You can—yeah.” Zayn’s still nodding, like he’s trying to be okay and Harry. He doesn’t— It’s not— It’s hard to watch. “Of course you can.”

“The thing is, for me,” Harry says, placing a hand over his fractured heart. “As much as I’d like to say yes, I’m afraid that. Well, my heart- my inexperienced heart would not recover if you left again. And I absolutely expect to be, you know, tossed aside. It’s too hard. There’s too many—you’re everywhere. And I’ve tried, twice now, to recover, and I’m afraid that I can’t do it again.”

Zayn licks his lips and nods, and Harry’s not sure if it’s a trick of the light or if Zayn’s eyes are welling up. It’s the light, Harry tells himself. He can’t handle the latter.

“That really is a no, isn’t it,” Zayn mumbles, swallowing thickly. “I meant what I said, however. If you wanted me to stay, I would. In a heartbeat I’d be yours, all you have to do is tell me to stay.”

Harry nods. He gets it, but that doesn’t change his answer. “You’re Zayn Malik,” Harry says, shrugging. “You’re a god, everyone knows you. The entire world. All of it. And I’m a mortal, destined to be burned when this all falls apart.”

“You know that’s not real, right? The fame? It’s not,” Zayn pauses, frowning as he tries to think, his eyebrows pulled together. “I’m just a boy that’s asking you to love me. I’m not a god or anything else, just a boy. Just Zayn.”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, watching as Zayn waits for an answer. He nods when he realizes that he’s not going to get one, and takes a step forward, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth lightly. Harry closes his eyes, leans into it and tries to remember the feel of Zayn’s lips, his breath as he exhales against Harry’s cheek, and his stubble as it brushes against him, reminding him that this is all so very real.

Harry watches Zayn go, feels the twist in his heart and knows that he was telling the truth at least about if Zayn ever left again. At this very moment, Harry’s not sure his heart will ever be whole and fully his again.

\/\/\/\/\/

Harry stares at the faces of his friends, trying to gauge their reactions now that he’s told them everything that’s happened. They’re all trying very hard to stay calm, neutral even, like they don’t want to do the wrong thing at this point in time. Harry bites down on the inside of his cheek, waiting.

“I think you made the right decision,” Liam says, nodding as he looks at everyone besides Harry.

“You do? Really?” Harry asks, because he doesn’t want to be lied to, not after he threw his own heart into the blender.

“Yeah. Of course. I mean, it’s like you said, he’s already tossed you aside a few times,” Liam says reasonably, “and it’s not like he was ever anything special, so what he has a few awards under his belt. That doesn’t mean he gets to use you like a windup toy.”

“I agree,” Niall says, tipping his glass at Harry. “I saw his cock, remember? And from what I remember, nothing special. Definitely not worth a repeat performance.”

“And he has a horrible temper,” Liam reasons. “You don’t want to get invested with that.”

“Right. Excellent. What do you think Caroline?” Harry asks.

Caroline hesitates for a second, looking around the room before she says, “Anyone who treats you awfully is a no in my book, so I think you made the right decision.”

“Perfect. Louis? What about you?”

“I thought he was dull,” Louis says, shrugging unapologetically. “He didn’t compliment my cooking, so he obviously has no manners.”

“Great. Wonderful. Thank you,” Harry says, tapping his fingers on the top of the counter. “Now, if we keep this up, I should be over him in about ten years time. Eight, if I’m lucky.”

“You’ll get over what in eight years?” Nick shouts, rushing into the pet store. “Sorry I’m late, was out with Daisy when I got Tomlinson’s text.”

“Harry’s just rejected Zayn Malik,” Niall informs him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Nick bellows, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes. “You idiot.

“Actually, Nick, it was the right thing to do,” Louis tells him, looking at Nick sternly. “Zayn is a pompous, arrogant jerk, and Harry has made the best decision to protect his heart.”

Nick snorts, rolling his eyes. He glares at Harry when he turns his attention away from Louis, but he doesn’t say anything. Harry’s grateful, because Nick’s words are making regret bubble up in his stomach and he can’t have that. He was smart, rational, and it’s the best decision. He was right to have done this.

“But all he said was that he wanted to try it, right?” Liam asks, frowning thoughtfully, like Nick’s words have gotten to him too.

Harry sighs, running nervous fingers through his hair. “No, actually. He said that he was asking me to love him, and if I wanted him, all I had to do was ask him to stay.” They all nod their heads in unison, reflective. “It was nice. I mean, it was all him. It wasn’t the Zayn I’d been seeing on the television, but the real him. He was stripped wide open and I—Oh fuck,” Harry groans, slapping himself on the forehead. “I’ve made the wrong decision, haven’t I?”

He looks to Nick immediately, who rolls his eyes and says, “Obviously.”

\/\/\/\/\/

By the time Harry gets to the Ritz, he’s panting, his lungs burning with the need for oxygen. He stumbles through the revolving doors and rushes to the front desk, tapping the annoying little bell until finally, an older man comes walking from out the back, snatching the bell away from him.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you?”

“Zayn. Zayn Malik. I need his room number, please.”

The man nods, fingers moving to the keyboard, punching something in. Harry wants to slap the bell again, to force him to hurry up. Turning back to look at Harry regretfully, he says, “I’m afraid we have no one here by that name.”

“Of course. Right. Um, Aquaman?”

“No.”

“Batman? The Dark Knight?”

“No and no.”

“Thor?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“Alright, listen. I’m at the right hotel. I know that he’s under a superhero name; I just don’t know which one. Do I have to pull out my phone and google them?” Harry asks, annoyed.

“Sir, I’m afraid that I can’t help you. We have no one in this hotel registered under any of those names.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got all night,” Harry says. “Let’s see… Robin?”

“Sir, I’m afraid that we have no one under superhero names staying here,” the man says and he looks at Harry pointedly, an eyebrow raised. “No superhero names.”

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding. He looks at the man, trying to figure out what his eyebrow is trying to tell him. No superheroes. No superheroes, he repeats to himself. But that doesn’t make any sense because Zayn told him that he always used them. And if it’s not a superhero then- “What about a villain? Have you got a villain?”

“Sir, I’m afraid that if you don’t have a name, I can’t help you.”

“A name. Of course. Is it the um, shit. That green guy, Green…Green.” The man shakes his head. “Not the green one, alright. What about, um, whoever that bad guy from Superman is?” Another head shake. “Joker? Poison Ivy? Bane?”

“Ah, that would be room 2209, sir.”

“Joker, Poison Ivy, Bane…they’re all staying in there?”

“Just Bane.”

Harry sighs, and fights the urge to kiss the man on his shiny forehead before he rushes off towards the elevators. He assaults the button much like he did the bell on the counter, pressing it incessantly until a set of doors open and then he’s hitting the twenty-two followed by the door close button, completely ignoring the man shouting for him to hold it. They’ll have to wait, Harry’s on a mission.

A minute and a half later, Harry flies out of the elevator, tripping over his feet as he makes to find Zayn’s room, a few doors away from the elevator. He takes one deep, calming breath and then knocks, because he really can’t wait any longer. He already made the mistake of ignoring Louis’ offer to drive him in favor of running; he’s lost valuable time. However, if he had gotten the ride, he’d have full control of his lungs and wouldn’t be panting like a dog waiting for Zayn.

The door pulls open to reveal Zayn, a frowning Zayn. Harry doesn’t like that. Zayn shouldn’t ever be frowning.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks.

“Can I come in?” Harry asks, glancing around. “Or I could stay out here. It’s the perfect location to toss me out, just slam the door in my face and be done with me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, as he tugs Harry into his hotel room.

“So what are you doing here?” Zayn asks, and Harry turns to see that he’s looking at him thoughtfully, still clad in Harry’s shirt. Harry takes that as a good sign, the best sign.

“I want you,” Harry says, flinching, because that wasn’t supposed to come out just yet. Not that part at least.

“You want me?” Zayn repeats back, arms folding over his chest defensively.

Harry nods. “Yeah. I want you, and I’d like to love you. I want you to stay, if you want to, that is.”

“You told me no,” Zayn says after a minute, looking at Harry through his lashes. “You. I mean, it was just a few hours ago. You broke my heart.”

Harry tries not to flinch at the words, tries his best to ignore the ache in his chest. Knowing that he hurt Zayn hurts more than being cast aside by him, and that. Maybe that’s a sign as well, Harry’s not sure. “I was an idiot. A complete fool. I thought. I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I wanted to protect myself, but then I realized how dumb I was. With Nick’s help, by the way, so I guess that makes up for some of his other not-so-great moments.”

“I guess it does,” Zayn says but he doesn’t sound convinced, he doesn’t sound like he’s wanting to stay. And he definitely doesn’t look like he’s ready to jump into Harry’s arms and let Harry walk him back to the bed. That doesn’t look like it’s going to be a thing.

“I’ll beg you. I’m not above it,” Harry says, and he’s really not. Not with Zayn, as he remembers. “Would you like me to get down on me knees?” He’s already moving to kneel, one knee on the ground, his hands placed on top of the other. “Now what? Anything you want. I’ll say it.”

“Harry,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head.

“No. I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was not my intention to break your heart and then to show up and confuse you, but god. Fuck, you have to understand how scary it is being with you. It’s like-“

“Surreal, but nice,” Zayn says, and he’s smiling finally and every ache and knot and hurt inside of Harry disappears at the sight of it. “Like a dream.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, watching as Zayn steps closer to him, grabbing Harry by the elbow and guiding him to a stand.

Zayn waits until he’s standing before he presses his hand to Harry’s cheek, thumb stroking the skin there. “Are you sure? You want me to stay?”

“More than anything,” Harry breathes, and he means it, with every fiber of his being.

Zayn smiles at that, hand sliding to the back of his neck as he pulls Harry in, pressing their lips together. It’s been two months, but Harry falls right back into the rhythm of it, gripping at Zayn’s hips to pull him, hands sliding under his shirt, because he wants to feel him, every inch of him.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

“Alright, here we have it,” Louis announces, holding the final brownie in the air. “And so the fight begins.”

“How are we going to start it off tonight,” Niall asks, hiccupping a bit. He’s definitely had too much to drink, Louis making sure that everyone’s wine glass was always filled, like a good host, and that beers were always replaced.

“Well, I think that since we’re all coming into such good fortune that we should, you know, see who has the best life. It’s only fair, really,” Louis says, and Harry can’t help but rolls his eyes, his hand finding Zayn’s under the table. “Personally, I’d like to nominate Liam.”

Liam looks surprised, but he’s smiling, eyes wrinkled shut from happiness. “Well, I do think that my life has been coming along great, I’d have to agree with you. I finally am working as a full time fireman, benefits and all. I just bought this lovely house, with my wonderful boyfriend. The forever place that we’ve been looking for, which, as fate would have it, is better than any of the places we considered in the past.”

“Well, I mean. You did burn your eyebrows off two months ago,” Harry mutters, taking a sip of wine. “Hardly counts as an amazing job.”

“And you’ve got that little brat up the street that shouts insults at you when you walk past his yard,” Niall says. “Not really the best location for a house.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty great that Niall just became official with that girl,” Zayn says, his thumb stroking the back of Harry’s hand. “Pretty amazing if you think about it.”

“Thank you, Zayn,” Niall says, taking another pull from his beer. “And even though we’ve only been official for a week, Barbara seems like she’s really going to be the one.”

“Just like Amy,” Liam says.

“No need to be bitter, Payne,” Niall retorts. “Your life is fine, but it’s not the best. Aside from snagging a truly wonderful lady, I’ve also gotten a promotion at work, which means pay increase.”

“But you’re still making less than anyone here,” Louis adds.

“Fuck off, Tomlinson,” Niall says, reaching across the table to try and shove at Louis. “Let’s see you do better, Mr. Picket Fence.”

“Well, aside from the wonderful home. I’ve got a long-term boyfriend, no offense Harry and Zayn, but six months,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s hardly anything. And, Liam and I are adopting.”

The smile instantly falls from Harry’s face. He spares a glance towards Zayn, his expression mirrored. “Louis…”

“A dog, you idiot,” Louis mutters, shaking his head. “Which, by default makes my life better than everyone’s.”

“Technically, Harry and I would have the best life then, yeah?” Zayn says, taking Harry’s wine glass from him so he can take a drink from it. “I mean, we adopted Harley two months ago. And we might not be in the process of adopting another, but as you said, dog means you win.”

“You need more than a dog to win,” Liam says, and trust him to have a list of rules in his head, not sharing them with anyone.

“We have two kittens,” Harry adds. “Those have to count.” Niall shrugs, unimpressed. “Well, we spent last weekend on an island, just because we felt like it. And we bought our own place, kind of.”

“Not your own place when Nick is living in the guest house,” Louis says.

“He doesn’t live there,” Zayn sighs, bored. They’ve gone over this before. “He just won’t leave.”

“So you have a pest infestation, hardly a great life,” Louis says sadly, frowning.

“And weren’t you caught with your hand down Harry’s pants at that movie premiere?” Liam adds and Harry blushes, because that was awful. Funnier than the first paparazzi scandal, until Harry’s mom called him, yelling at him for not bring Zayn for dinner and for not being more careful.

“There was also that incident where they got that nude shot of Harry on that boat off the coast of France, nice picture of his ass on the front page,” Niall adds.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, letting go of Zayn’s hand so he can wave his arms around wildly, distracting them from adding anything else. “We get it. None of our lives are better than the other.”

“So what do we do about the brownie?” Liam asks, and they all turn to look at Louis in unison. He looks at them back before he runs, chair skidding across the floor.

“Fuck off, Tomlinson,” Niall shouts, rushing after him and Liam follows, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Harry sighs, shaking his head. He turns to look at Zayn, who is staring at him, a small smile on his face.

“So what happens next?” Zayn asks, tilting his head to the side so that he can look at Harry properly, the sound of Harry’s friends arguing in the other room, curses and cries of pain as they fight for the brownie. “In your dream. What happens now?”

“You kiss me,” Harry says easily enough, already leaning in to press his lips to Zayn’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://www.alnimawrites.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me about this or anything :).


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